Emma's Trip Around the World
by a.c.ryder
Summary: While unconscious after Jefferson drugged her, Emma meets some of Robert Carlyle's characters; including Dr. Rush, Carl Benton, Father MacAvoy and more. This story was born out of my insomnia; ironic that while I couldn't sleep, I was writing a story about a woman who couldn't wake up.
1. Welcome to Sangala

I do not own Once Upon a Time or 24 (which includes Emma Swan and Carl Benton) They are the property of their respective owners and I am just using them for entertainment purposes. Second only to Dr. Rush, Carl Benton is perhaps my favorite Carlylye character. If you like the stories, please review; as I said I haven't slept for three days. If no one reviews, I will take them down. Either way, I hope you enjoy them.

* * *

The air was thick with dry heat as beads of sweat trickled down Emma's face. It reminded her of Phoenix, but that couldn't be right – she was in Maine. It had just been dark, raining, and it was bone chillingly cold. There were voices around her, distant and distorted. The voice of the man sounded like Gold; the other was a young boy with an odd accent she couldn't place. She needed to open her eyes, but the scorching sunlight was leaking through the skin of her eyelids inspiring her to keep them closed. Suddenly, her arm was being draped around his neck. There was an arm beneath her knees and an arm wrapped firmly around her back as her body was lifted from the heated surface of the ground.

"Gold…" she murmured into his chest. While she was disoriented, she was sure only of the fact that Gold was with her and she was safe. Emma heard him order the young boy to open the car door then climb into the backseat. The roar of the engine startled Emma, and she realized she was lying with her head in his lap. Confusion flooded her as she felt his fingers press frantically to her pulse point. Was she hurt? Did he think she was dead? Doing a mental diagnosis, Emma couldn't feel anything hurt or broken other than a raging headache. At that Emma finally allowed her eyelids to open, looking at the man who had…who had; what had he done? Had he saved her life? Had she simply passed out?

The harsh sunlight assaulted her eyes and Emma struggled to focus. The man looked exactly like Gold, only he had the beginnings of a beard where Gold was clean shaven. His hair was shorter, sandy brown with a few more strands of gray. They had the same deep, haunted brown eyes; same sharp nose and tight lips. Their voices were the same, soothing and laced with a Scottish brogue. Yet, she knew in her heart of hearts that this was not Gold. Her eyes drifted closed and the darkness took her.

* * *

When her eyes opened again she was tucked snuggly in a bed, her bones felt like lead, her limbs weak and listless. Why she was covered in blankets in this heat was beyond her, unpinning her arms from the restrictive cocoon. The room was bare save for the bed and a small desk and chair. Emma began to panic as her memories came flooding back; Mary Margaret was missing and her last conscious memory was being drugged by Jefferson. Was this a drug induced hallucination? Or had he managed to transport her somewhere without her knowing?

The familiar voices returned, getting closer to her door. She could hear the young boy say that she was very pretty, eliciting a small smile despite her panicked state. The older man chided him, telling him to go play with the other boys so he could check on her. Emma scrambled back against the wall, her breath caught in her throat as the door opened.

"Ah, hello…I see you're awake…" he said smiling, standing awkwardly at the entrance. That was Gold, she was sure of it; tears filled her eyes as she felt her heart constrict. He wore casual clothing; khaki's and a light green t-shirt that lay beneath a white cotton button down vest that was left open. Worry creased the man's brow as he held up his hands in a placating gesture, hopefully telling her he meant her no harm. There was nowhere for her to run as he was blocking her only exit.

"Gold…" she whispered tearfully, certain this had to be some kind of bizarre dream. The man's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he shook his head.

"You've been moaning that word since I found you; my name is Carl Benton. And you are?"

"Having a nightmare…" she said breathlessly before she could stop herself. His expression was unreadable as he neither laughed nor got offended. There were a hundred questions she wanted to ask, but panic had sealed her throat. Emma backed helplessly into the wall. This was a nightmare, right? It had to be, there was no other explanation. He wasn't saying anything, wasn't moving at all. Since he didn't seem intent on hurting her, Emma took a deep breath and met his eyes.

"I'm Emma…Emma Swan." She said, her voice quivering. "H-how did I get here? Where is here? What happened?" she fired the questions at lightning speed, barely above a whisper.

"Well, I was honestly hoping you could tell me what happened. I found you on the side of the road unconscious. You didn't appear to be injured, but you were incoherent – lapsing in and out of consciousness. And you are in Sangala, Africa, at my school for young boys who are in danger of being forced into the war or used as slave labor."

_Africa…_ her heart raced as the room spun, the tears spilling from her eyes. Emma brought her hand to her throat, struggling for breath. She was having a panic attack. Carl was by her side in an instant, gently taking her hand as he led her to the door. Emma wanted to fight him, but getting out of that tiny room seemed like a glorious idea.

The world outside was alive with calls of birds and the buzzing of insects as he led her away from the building. They were on the edge of the jungle, thick, lush green plants blocked the way to the massive mountains in the distance. While Africa had never been one of her top ten vacation spots, Emma felt her heart instantly slow in awe of the beauty of all that surrounded her. Carl led her down a small hill to a secluded spot by a large tree with two chairs beside it; a bucket of water was perched on a makeshift stool. Carl offered her the ladle and Emma drank quickly without question, filling the ladle again.

"Thank you," Emma replaced the ladle in the bucket, shifting nervously under his intense gaze.

"You're welcome," he said kindly. Emma was still exhausted, her body still weak. Carl helped her back to bed where he tucked her in; Emma couldn't help but smile at the gesture. Being tucked in as a child was not something she was accustomed to. It was her last conscious thought before sleep took her.

* * *

The pounding in her head had seemed to lessen as Emma looked around in confusion. _So she was still in Africa_… Emma jumped slightly at the sight of a young boy standing in the doorway, a plate full of food in his hand. He was a young boy, about Henry's age with big brown eyes and a bright, ready smile.

"Excuse me, miss…Mr. Benton asked me to bring this to you." he said, holding up the plate as he spoke. She recognized his voice and accent from when they found her this morning.

"He asked you to bring it, huh?" she said smiling, watching as his broad smile widened shyly. "Well, not exactly; I snuck out with it. I wanted to meet you…" he said, handing her the plate. Emma wasted no time in eating as the young boy pulled a chair up to her bed.

"I'm Willie…I live here with my brother Desmond. What's your name?"

"I'm Emma…" she replied, swallowing a mouthful of lettuce.

"You are an American, yes?" he asked excitedly.

"I am…"

"Are you hurt…from this morning? I was with Mr. Benton when he found you…" Emma smiled at the boy's curiosity.

"I'm not hurt, my head hurts and I'm tired, but I'm ok."

"I think Mr. Benton likes you, he has hardly left your door since we found you. He is a very good man; he takes very good care of us. He could make you very happy if you chose to stay." Emma found herself speechless at that, blushing from the boys insinuations.

"I'm sorry Willie, I don't think I'll be staying very long." Emma said, letting the boy down easy. His face fell for a moment, before he smiled at her again.

"How did you get to Africa? Have you traveled anywhere else?"

"You ask a lot of questions…" Emma noted, though she didn't mind. He reminded her so much of Henry, with the same inquisitive mind.

"That's what Mr. Benton says…" Willie said, grinning from ear to ear.

"And what else has Mr. Benton said?" Carl asked sharply from the door. Willie's smile faded as Emma looked up in surprise. Willie turned his head as he stood slowly to face his teacher and guardian, unable to meet the man's gaze.

"To leave the lady alone, and let her get her rest…" he replied quietly.

"It's ok," Emma interjected quickly on his behalf, "he was only bringing me something to eat." She said, holding up the almost empty plate. Carl nodded; his face softening as he met the boy's big, pleading brown eyes.

"Willie, go join the others, please…" The young boy complied immediately, waving goodbye to Emma as he rushed out the door. Carl was about to follow when Emma called after him.

"Please…don't go…" he paused, turning to face her. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. I was pretty sure that you were nothing more than an elaborate dream, but I realize now that I was wrong." Carl nodded, smiling sympathetically from the doorway.

"I just…I don't want to be alone. Will you sit with me a while?" After a moment's hesitation, Carl made his way to her side.

"I'm sorry as well, Miss Swan. I can only imagine how terrifying this all must be for you. Waking up in another country with no memory of how you got here…" Carl said; sitting in the chair Willie had just occupied. Emma didn't wanted to admit it, but terrified didn't even scratch the surface of how scared senseless she was.

"Yea, thank you, for uh, helping me – bringing me here…" she stammered, unsure of what to say.

"You're welcome."

"He seems like a really good boy." Emma said, already fond of the young boy. Carl couldn't suppress his smile, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Indeed, he is. He'd make an excellent explorer one day with that adventurous spirit of his. Either that or he'd make one hell of a lawyer." Emma could help but laugh, trying to swallow the last of her meal.

"So what is this place…you said it was a school?" Carl smiled as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Yes, I take care of boys in danger of being taken by slave laborers or being forced into the war."

"Wow, so you're like a missionary?" she asked incredulously. Carl laughed out loud at that, shaking his head in response.

"No, I was actually a member of the Special Air Service in Britain…basically the British version of Special Ops…" Emma raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, but I would never have guessed that about you. You don't come off as the military type…much less Special Forces…" Carl huffed with a smirk, nodding his head in agreement.

"Well, I worked for the British Intelligence Agency for a few years after I left; but, my heart was always here I guess. I haven't been the military type for quite some time now…" Emma smiled, already attached to this Gold-replica who seemed to be everything she wished Gold would allow himself to be.

"And what about you, Miss Swan? What does your normal life entail?"

"Oh, drama mostly…" she teased lightly. "I'm the Sherriff of a small town in Maine. I, uh, recently met my son who I put up for adoption ten years ago. He came to Boston and found me, begging for my help. When I brought him back to Maine where he lived and saw firsthand how unhappy he was I ended up staying. It's how I met Gold…it's all a bit complicated…" she explained briefly.

"Sounds like it." Carl rubbed his palms on his khakis nervously. "So, 'gold' is a person?"

"Yes, he's my uh, well, we're um…" Emma couldn't think of anything other than how she ended up in Africa with Gold; who wasn't Gold, but Carl Benton.

"Dating?" he finished for her.

Emma nodded quickly, "You could be his twin…" he raised a curious eyebrow at that, but didn't press her.

"Forgive me for asking, but how did you end up here?"

"I honestly have no idea, the last thing I remember I was in Maine looking for my best friend who had escaped from jail – she was being framed for murder. There was this guy, he drugged me…and I woke up here."

"He drugged you?" Carl repeated incredulously, an edge of anger to his voice. Emma fell silent, unsure of what to say. Carl stood suddenly as if he sensed her discomfort, offering her his hand.

"It's such a fine day out Emma – do you feel up for taking a walk? I could show you around…" Though Emma still felt weak, she needed the fresh air. She leaned heavily on his arm as he helped her to her feet, staying close by to steady her. The heat enveloped her body as she stepped outside, her eyes closing against the sunlight. He explained all the construction going on – they were adding new rooms so that they could take in more boys. They walked leisurely arm in arm, Emma listened as he explained what each building was.

"So, you really take care of all these boys by yourself?" she asked in amazement.

"Well, I have some help, but yes; for all intents and purposes I take care of them myself."

"Why? I mean, that can't be easy…" Emma was enthralled, truly amazed by what this man was doing here – how many lives he was saving with what appear to be very limited resources.

"It's a challenge, especially dealing with the trauma some of these boys have lived through. I didn't set out doing this…I guess you could say I have much to pay for and this is my penance." Emma watched the darkness flash in his eyes, the memory of some awful event playing in his mind.

"Emma…" he said her name forcefully, as if trying to get her attention. He smiled briefly in relief when she met his eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm sorry; I was just comparing you and Gold." She admitted, hoping it didn't upset him.

"Are we that much alike?"

"In voice and appearance, yes; but in personality and character you're vastly different."

"Tell me about him…"

"Uh, well, he is an antiques dealer; very wealthy, owns half the town. He can be very ruthless and manipulative but he's not violent. Well, most days anyway, I actually had to arrest him for beating a man who robbed him of some precious items."

"Sounds like a nice guy…" Carl said pointedly.

"Well, he is beneath all that armor. He was forced into a war as a young man and his leg was badly injured. He's lost everyone he loves; his wife left him after he returned home, he lost his son some years later. I think it makes him afraid to let people in. But he is very good to me. He's been nothing but patient and understanding given my, well…" Her voice trailed off, stopping herself from giving too much away.

"Do you love him?" Emma was surprised at the boldness of the question. "Um, well we haven't been dating that long. It kind of just happened. I think I do…" she admitted, frightened at the idea of being in love with anyone.

"Isn't that something you just kind of know?" Carl asked mockingly, almost as if he was trying to start a fight.

"I don't know; I've never been in love before." Emma answered sharply. "What about you, Mr. Benton? Any long lost loves?"

"No, sadly; the job never really allowed for committed relationships. Even for those who tried, their families were targeted by our more ruthless enemies. I've seen men lose everything to the job and though I've been lonely, I've never regretted it." Carl avoided her gaze as he spoke, causing her to wonder if that was entirely true.

They arrived back at the chairs that sat outside her room by the tree. Emma sipped water from the ladle, looking around to see all the young boys staked out around them. She couldn't help but giggle as Carl sent them all running with threats of extra chores for a week. She wanted to ask what had happened to him, but she felt it best to remain silent. If things were different, Emma might have liked to remain here, to help these boys in some way. But she needed to get home, or rather, she needed to wake up.

"Willie speaks very highly of you…" Emma said grinning brightly. Carl quirked a quizzical eyebrow, silently willing her to elaborate.

"It's just that he thinks you like me, and that you will make me very happy should I choose to stay…" Emma could barely finish the sentence without breaking into a fit of giggles. Carl rolled his eyes laughing with her, mumbling under his breath about the _blasted little bugger_.

"He probably wants you to stay more for him than me." Carl said, a hint of sadness to his voice. Emma eyed him curiously as he continued. "A lot of these boys have lost their mothers – their entire families. Not too many women come this way and they are always on me about getting a girlfriend. They see me as a father figure; I imagine they're looking for a mother figure as well."

Emma was in awe at the sharp contrast of these two men, despite being the same in voice and appearance. Gold was cold and manipulative, though Emma knew there was more beneath the callous exterior. Both had trauma in their past's and they couldn't have handled it more differently if they tried. Carl had a very empathetic, calm demeanor about him, despite the occasional hardness in his eyes. Though she didn't know exactly what happened to Carl, he devoted his life to taking care of people desperately in need of shelter and protection. There was a gentleness about him, a quiet strength that put her instantly at ease in his presence.

"Can I…ask you something, Emma?" he asked hesitantly, watching her intently.

"I guess that would depend on what your question is…" he shifted nervously in his seat, appearing uncertain if he should even ask.

"When we were in the truck you were crying a lot, mumbling; not making much sense. It sounded like…you were being raped." Emma closed her eyes; she was afraid that she said more than he was letting on. It certainly accounted for his initial awkwardness and discomfort around her. "Was it the man who drugged you?"

"If I answer you, will you answer a question of mine?" Carl simply nodded, and Emma stared off at the glorious view before her, recounting the events of her past. Being found on the side of the road as an infant, being bounced around the child care system her entire life until one fateful night when she was seventeen. She told him how her foster father raped her, that he was her son's father. Emma risked at glance at Carl's face, his eyes shining with tears.

"I am truly sorry, Emma." He whispered hoarsely. Emma shrugged dismissively, guarding against her own emotions.

"Now, may I ask you a question?" she asked, changing the subject as quick as possible. When Carl nodded again, Emma turned her chair to face him.

"What did you do that you feel you need to pay penance for?" His eyes went dark, lowering his gaze to the ground. Emma could see him struggle to find words, his gaze focused intently on the view before them.

"I was in Beirut, it was a counter insurgency operation and I was holding a suspect. There was a terrorist attack planned, the attack window was open – time was limited, and I needed that location. I was sure I had the right guy, but he wasn't giving me the information I needed, so I pushed him – tortured him…" all the guilt and remorse was clearly present in his eyes as he spoke, though his voice was detached from his words.

"Finally, he relented and told me what I wanted to hear…right before he died. He wasn't the right guy and the intel he gave me was bad. I lost fourteen men and twenty-one civilians that day. After that, well, I decided it was time to get out."

Emma swallowed her tears, reaching out for his hand. He smiled at the gesture, squeezing her hand tightly. "I'm sorry. And not to diminish what happened, but how many lives have you saved?"

"I never kept track of how many lives I saved, only how many I've lost." He was silent a moment longer, squeezing her hand gently once more before he released it. "Thank you, for listening. I've never shared that with anyone…"

"You're welcome…" Emma was struck with a wave of dizziness – her body felt even weaker after the walk. Carl instantly steadied her and brought her to her feet. She needed to rest.

"How long have I been here?" she asked Carl as they walked to her room.

"A few hours…" he answered. Emma laughed, certain that she's been here a full day at least. "No, I mean, how long since you found me?"

"A few hours..." He repeated. Emma stared at him incredulously – it had to be longer than that. She was unconscious and had slept twice since being here…unless she wasn't sleeping as long as she thought she was.

"You're welcome to stay as long as you'd like." He offered softly, the slightest edge of hope lacing his voice.

"I would, uh, I would've liked that. But I have to get home to find my friend and clear her of these charges." She said sadly, sorry that she couldn't stay. Carl nodded in resignation as they reached her room. If this was indeed a dream, Emma hoped to find herself in it more often. She liked this version of Gold…

"Thank you, Carl…for everything." She said, pressing her lips to the back of his hand in thanks. She could feel his body tense at the gesture, but he instantly relaxed.

"Do you mind if I sleep a little while longer?" she asked, raising her eyes to his.

"Not at all…" he said, stepping back. Though Emma knew it was inappropriate, she pulled him back to her, burying her face in his chest. It wasn't Gold, she knew that; but her hallucinations had given her a man with his face. Even in this nightmare, he could offer her comfort. His hands grip her arms, rubbing gently as he whispered thickly accented words in her ear. Carl eased her down to the bed, trying to coax her to lie down.

"Stay with me, please…" she pleaded, pulling him by his shirt with her. There was no hesitation as he curled up behind her. It was anyone's guess what she would be waking up to. At least in this moment she could have the comfort of his presence. Emma couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd been with a woman – if he and Gold had that in common as well. It didn't matter, he was here and she was safe. Emma smiled contentedly as her eyes closed, drifting immediately to sleep.

* * *

Join us next time when Emma wakes in the bed of Dr. Rush...

Please review :)


	2. I'm Where?

Again, I do not own Once Upon a Time or Stargate Universe (If I did, it would never have been cancelled; God damn MGM) Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Hope you enjoy it! :)

* * *

Emma woke with a start, clearly not in the same place she went to sleep. Carl was gone; the bed was larger, the mattress harder and covered in silk sheets. There was a mechanical humming as if she were on a train. The sound was entirely foreign to her and she looked around cautiously, fearful of what she'd find. The room was dark save for the iridescent lights that leaked in through the small, odd-shaped windows, giving everything an otherworldly look. As she looked around the practically empty room one thing had become very clear – she was dreaming. It was probably an effect of whatever drug Jefferson used, but she needed to wake up, she didn't have time for this.

There was a loud sound coming from the wall, something was turning like a doorknob. Emma held her breath in terror as the wall opened, and another man who looked exactly like Gold walked into the room. He was distracted and angry as he closed the door behind him, obsessing over a little black notebook. His hair was longer like Gold's and he had a fuller beard than Benton. He, too, was dressed casually in jeans with a vest over a dark green t-shirt and white thermal. He had started removing his shirts, when Emma quickly cleared her throat. The man practically jumped out of skin, backing against the wall, his eyes wide as he stared at her in confused silence. Emma was propped up on her elbows on his bed, motionless as she stared back.

"Hi, I'm Emma…" she stated awkwardly. He said nothing, stared incredulously as he brought a small radio to his mouth.

"Eli, this is Rush. Has anyone dialed in on the gate?" he asked firmly, his hard, scrutinizing gaze never leaving her.

"Uh, nope, the gate's quiet." came the hesitant reply. He dropped the radio on the table, moving from the wall to the end of the bed. Emma was afraid he'd attack her if she moved, especially with the wild, accusatory glare in his eyes.

"I know everyone on this ship. I avoid them, but I know who they are. You don't belong here. Who are you?" he growled through gritted teeth. Emma swallowed hard, deciding it best not to give sarcastic answers.

"I'm Emma from Maine. Where am I?" There was something threatening about this version of Gold, making her want to skip this part and jump to the next one. Better yet, to just wake up entirely.

"Are you an Ancient?" he demanded, ignoring her question.

"An Ancient what? I'm twenty-eight years old – what the hell is 'an ancient'?" Emma asked defensively, confused at his words.

"I'll take that as no…" he breathed quietly. His gaze continued to study her as he moved to the side of the bed. "Well then, what are you? How did you end up in my bed on the far side of the universe?"

The tears filled Emma's eyes as she contemplated his words. "Look, I don't know what's going on. I was drugged by some guy in Maine, I woke up in Africa and when I went back to sleep there, I woke up here." There was an incredulous and murderous glare on the man's face as he stepped closer. Emma was truly frightened as he stared down at her.

"You know, there are very powerful aliens in this galaxy capable of creating an entire solar system. Do you know how easy it would be for them to plant you here and sabotage this ship?" his voice was low; threatening as he spoke.

And Emma thought Henry's fairy tale theory was out there – this guy was certifiable. Aliens building solar systems on the far side of the universe; talk about paranoia. Emma realized she needed to keep calm; he obviously saw her as a threat and if she made any sudden movements there was no telling what he'd do. Suddenly, everything slowed and Emma felt like she was being torn in two as the ship seemed to stop. Given her already dizzy and nauseas state, Emma was about to lose what little was in her stomach.

"What was that?" she asked hoarsely, her hand splayed over her abdomen. Rush studied her, looking at her for the first time like she was human.

"We dropped out of FTL…" he explained, as if she'd know what that meant.

"FT-what?" she repeated, trying to catch her breath. Rush rolled his eyes at her ignorance.

"Faster than light…it's how the ship travels so fast through space and time."

"Oh of course; why didn't I think of that?" she said sardonically, unable to stop herself.

"Wait here, I'll be right back…" he said moving swiftly to the door. Emma watched how it worked so she could run the moment he was gone. Her heart sank as she watched the green light turn to red. She scrambled off the bed, rushing to the wall and pressing the button repeatedly – nothing was happening. The bastard locked her in. She considered banging and screaming her head off, but she still didn't know who, or what, was out there.

Emma paced around his room restlessly feeling like a caged animal. She contemplated just going back to sleep, since that seems to be when she changes places; but she was too angry to sleep. Part of her wanted to jump him when he returned, but that would certainly end badly and he would never believe her that she wasn't a threat. How long would he be gone? Emma fell to the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands.

Emma feared she might be having a brain aneurism given this massive headache. She'd make it a point to return the favor on Jefferson by connecting her foot to his temple when she woke up, hopefully breaking a few bones in the process. The door finally opened and the man walked in holding metallic mug. Emma was leery as he approached her slowly, offering her the cup.

"What's that?" she asked hesitantly, keeping her hands folded in her lap.

"Its water," Rush replied shortly, as if offended she didn't trust him.

"How do I know it's not poisoned?" Rush pulled the mug back, leveling her with a hard stare. He had the nerve to look annoyed and he was the one accusing of her of being an alien!

"If I wanted to hurt you, I would've brought you to the Col. of this ship and told him were a threat. He'd believe me, given that people don't just materialize out of thin air."

"So, why are you being nice to me?"

"Even if you were an alien, they would've given you a much better story. Plus, you'd be used to traveling through space and you wouldn't have had such a physical reaction when dropping out of FTL. So," he said, holding out the mug once more. "I brought this to ease your nausea."

Emma stared at him skeptically before taking the mug and sipping the water slowly. "So, who are you? Where I am?"

"I'm Dr. Nicholas Rush…you're aboard the Destiny." He stammered, still unsure of what to make of all this. Emma stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.

"A Doctor of what; what's the Destiny?" Emma prodded when he still stood like a statue beside the bed. Rush shook his head slightly and met her eyes.

"Uh, science, quantum physics. The Destiny is the spaceship we are all stranded on."

"The what?" Emma repeated breathlessly.

"We are all stuck in a spaceship on the other side of the universe." He explained, recoiling when she stood up as if afraid she'd hit him. She moved passed him to the window, peering out at the vast sea of pitch blackness that lay beyond the iridescent lights. If Emma thought waking up in Africa was confusing, nothing could have prepared her for waking up on a spaceship.

"Do you enjoy chess?" Emma turned, blinking at him in confusion.

"Chess?" she groaned in frustration.

"I enjoy playing chess…care to join me in a game?" he asked, motioning to the wooden chess pieces on his desk. With one last glance out the window, she moved towards him. She could help but notice the gold band on his left finger as she sat across from him.

"Is your wife on board?" he didn't even glance at his hand as he reset the chess board.

"No." came his bitter reply. Emma didn't press, wondering if perhaps he was divorced or if his wife was back on earth. _Oh, Emma get a grip…he is a hallucination!_ She chided herself, shaking her head at her own thoughts. "So, what's your story?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He stared at her expectantly and Emma decided to just be vague. "Well, you're the second version of my boyfriend that I've met. I just left Carl Benton in Africa, who was a Special Forces commando who tortured someone to death and is now taking care of a bunch of boys. Gold, the man I'm dating on earth is a pawnbroker who lost his wife, son and true love. And now I'm with you on _the Destiny_ and I'm just curious to know more about you."

Rush stared at her in disbelief at that statement and Emma couldn't tell if he was amused or frightened. He twirled the wooden chess piece between his fingers, reclining in his seat. Emma wondered if he would speak to her at all after this or just throw her off the ship. Rush seemed much closer to Gold's personality than Benton was, keeping his emotions bottled inside him beneath a callous exterior.

"I was married; a professor of quantum physics at the local college." He began softly, much to Emma's surprise. "My wife was, well, she was my soul mate. She died recently of cancer, alone…as I was too busy trying to solve the equation that eventually led us here." Bitterness laced his quiet words; the guilt he felt was almost tangible.

"I'm sorry for your loss…" Emma said empathetically. Rush nodded in thanks and continued.

"We were on a planet that came under attack and I could either dial earth or this address. At the time, no one knew where it led or what was on the other side. If I dialed earth I risked an explosion following through the gate and obliterating the whole of the human race. So, I decided it was better to risk our hundred lives than to wipe planet earth and humanity off the grid forever." Emma was stunned at what he said.

"So you just sealed the fate of a hundred people without giving them an option?" Emma asked incredulously. _Wonderful, a completely sociopathic version of Gold…_ she mused, claiming a black pawn with her white knight. His hard, cold brown eyes glared at her sending a shiver down her spine…the man was nothing of not intimidating.

"There was no option. It was risk it or die." Rush stated darkly.

"So, when you say 'dial', are we talking about phones; antibacterial soap?" she teased, clueless as to what he was talking about.

"The Stargate…" Rush said matter-of-factly like she knew what he was talking about. At Emma's blank stare, Rush stood, motioning with his finger for her to follow. The door opened, and Emma remained close behind him as he led her through the ship. Even with the lights on, the corridor was dark and ominous, and the empty halls were eerie and cold. She could hear the grated metal ground beneath her feet as she clung to his arm nervously, half expecting some alien to come jumping out at her and scare her awake.

He led her to a large open room, the centerpiece of which was a monumental stone circle that was built into the floor. There were strange symbols carved all around it, and Emma brushed her fingertips delicately over the massive structure. In all her life she had never seen anything like it. Rush circled around her as he explained how it worked – how it brought them to new worlds.

"This is incredible…" she whispered in amazement, unable to tear her eyes away.

"So, tell me, how you ended up here?" he asked almost politely, his hands clasped behind his back. He motioned with his head for her to follow him as she answered his question.

"Uh, well, I was drugged back in Maine and as I said, I seem to be hallucinating the man I'm dating in various places only with varying past circumstances. Trust me, you aren't real and at any moment I will wake up and kick Jefferson's ass."

"Jefferson is…?" Rush asked, listening intently to her tale.

"He's the guy that drugged me…" Emma said emotionless, wondering where he was taking her. Rush nodded, staring at her once again as if trying to make sure she was human. Emma hardly paid any attention, however, as she was too preoccupied studying her surroundings with fascination. Every corridor looked the same and she wondered how people weren't getting constantly lost.

"Anyway, like I said, I'm just dreaming; meeting my boyfriend over and over all throughout space and time." She continued in his silence, keenly aware that Mary was running out of time.

"Interesting…" he mumbled beside her. Emma knew better than anyone how crazy it sounded as she was the one living it. Changing the subject, she made the mistake of asking a question about the ship itself and Rush was off. She nodded silently with a polite smile as Rush explained the history of the ship, the ancients and ascension. She had no clue what any of it meant, but it was fascinating to think about.

"I was, uh, abducted by aliens a few months ago…as was another young woman on board." He blurted abruptly. Emma stared at him astonished and somewhat frightened – it suddenly made sense why he was so hostile towards her.

"I'm sorry, that had to be terrifying…"

"Yes, it was. We were held in water tanks as they searched our minds, trying to figure out who we were; what we were doing aboard this ship. Luckily, we escaped and made it back to the ship." He paused in the corridor outside a wide open door.

"Wait here," he said, walking into the room. It was noisy and dark, looking almost like a bar, only with the most extravagant alcohol dispenser she'd ever seen. On second thought, Jefferson just might become her supplier. This was an amazing drug – she was already planning a second visit to Carl Benton. Was it technically considered cheating if you slept with a man who had your boyfriends face and it happened in a dream? Emma chided herself, shaking herself from her thoughts. She needed to wake up – Mary didn't have time for her to be traipsing all throughout space and time meeting Gold over and over again.

"Shall we?" Rush asked, holding a bottle full of what she assumed to be alcohol of some kind. "There's something I think you should see…" Emma forced a smile, falling in step beside him. There was something hidden beneath his eyes, something dark and Emma couldn't quite place it.

"Where are we going now?" she asked, not certain that she trusted him.

"The observation deck…" he replied, as if she knew what that was.

"So, you've been drugged and you ended up here on Destiny with us." he repeated; clearly not buying her story. "That is quite the story, Miss Swan…" Emma nodded in response as she blindly followed him.

"I know how crazy it sounds…"

"Well, I myself have seen some incredible and crazy things since being on this ship. And all I can tell you is that I know I'm real…" _Of course you would think that, you're a hallucination_… she thought idly. But before she could respond, Rush turned to her and smiled, "Welcome to the far side of the universe…" he almost whispered with a small smile, his thick Scottish accent even more pronounced.

Emma stopped in her tracks – her breath caught in her throat as she stepped onto what she could only assume was the observation deck. There before her – seeming close enough to reach out and touch – was a giant, sand-colored planet with translucent rings around it, reminding her of Jupiter. But she knew they were far beyond their own galaxy. Not too much further away, just behind the massive planet was the sun. If Emma didn't know better she might think it was a painting, perfect in its awesome and breathtaking stillness. After what felt like an eternity she took a step forward, taking in the black night sky littered with stars and the various moons that surrounded the planet. She fell to the couch beside Rush with a breathless sigh, unable to look away. Never in her entire life did she ever imagine that she would see anything so magnificent.

"It's quite extraordinary, isn't it?" he asked, handing her a mug as she sat down.

"Is this what you see every day?" she asked instead.

"Indeed, most days…I'm usually in the control room trying to make sure we don't all die up here…" Emma nodded in sheer wonder, her gaze drifting skeptically to the drink he offered.

"So, I've been drugged and now you wanna get me drunk?" she asked sarcastically, taking the mug and swirling its contents. Who would've guessed there would be alcohol in space?

"I got the alcohol more for me and I thought it would be rude not to share. Besides, you aren't even here, as you said, you're dreaming. So what's the harm?" He said with a suggestive smirk. Emma shrugged, tossing the glass back. The sharp bitter taste made Emma gag, burning its way down her throat.

"Ugh, it tastes like rubbing alcohol…" she said disgusted, handing the mug to Rush.

"Oh, sorry, love, I should've mentioned that…" he chuckled, not a shred of remorse in his voice. Emma needed something to rinse her mouth out with as she returned her gaze to the view before them.

"Do you regret that you ended up here?"

"I regret that so many people who don't want to be here, are…and that they will never see their loved ones again…" he said sadly, showing the first signs of human emotion she'd seen all night. "But this ship, being here – this was my destiny. And even if there was a way home, I wouldn't take it."

"Why?" He tossed back the mug, wincing and holding his breath as he swallowed the bitter liquid.

"…Because there's nothing left for me to go home to. This ship is my home now; my life would be meaningless on Earth. At least here…at least here I can be useful, learning the secrets of the universe. And who knows, perhaps even gain the knowledge and the power to change things for the better." Emma nodded in silence, wondering if he needed to actually believe that in order to better deal with the mistakes that he's made. From the death of his wife to stranding everyone on this ship, it's no wonder he wants to stay afloat in the vastness of space. All at once, the dizzying weakness surged through Emma's body. She gripped the edge of the couch firmly, her head swimming and her body swaying.

"Are you alright, Emma?" Rush asked, one hand gripping her arm as the other stroked her back.

"What was in that? Did you drug me?" Emma accused, looking into the shocked, albeit amused face of Dr. Rush. He split into four Rush's as Emma tried to focus, the room spinning around her as he stood quickly, allowing her to lay down.

"It was alcohol," he said, lifting her legs onto the couch. "According to you, you're already drugged. Why would I drug you again?" Emma lay on her back, holding her head as if it would make the room stop spinning. Her insides felt as though they were being liquefied and she knew her legs wouldn't support her weight if she stood. Emma closed her eyes against the pain, convinced that she was dying. The nausea twisted in her stomach like a knife causing Emma to curl in on herself.

"Do you want me to get the medic?" he offered suddenly, concern evident in his voice. Emma couldn't help but smile at the thought, but she knew it would be pointless. The drug needed to work its way out of her system.

"No, thank you. I just to need to sleep…I'm so tired." She said breathlessly. "If you don't mind, could you just hold me?"

Without question, he curled up behind her. It was a tight fit, but he was so slight and small as it was and their bodies molded perfectly to each other. The only good thing about Rush was that his voice was as soothing as Gold's. Committing that view to memory, Emma closed her eyes, allowing herself to imagine she was in Gold's bed, being held in his arms, and that it was his words that comforted her.

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Emma travels to England next, where she meets Father MacAvoy

Please review :)


	3. A Priest, Seriously?

_Oh the paradoxes of life: during a time when I am unable to sleep, I am stuck writing about a woman who can't wake up. LOL Anyway..._

_I do not own Once Upon A Time or The Tournament (Emma or Father MacAvoy) Given the lack of his character's back story, I had to improvise on why Father MacAvoy is an alcoholic. I 'borrowed' a storyline from the movie Priest, and gave it a twist._

_If you've never read my story Cold Comfort, you don't necessarily need to, but I'm keeping Emma and Gold's past the same as in that story. So, some of the references of her past might make more sense if you've at least read ch. 1. So, here you go, I hope you enjoy it. Please Review..._

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"Please wake up; don't be dead…wake up, wake up –" The man's desperate cries echoed around her as he shook her frantically, gently tapping her cheek. Emma's eyes opened and focused on the wide, terrified brown eyes of Gold look a-like number three, wrinkling her nose as the pungent smell of whiskey filled her nostrils.

"Oh, thank God…" he breathed in relief, crossing himself. "Are you alright? Are you hurt…anywhere?" he asked, helping her sit up. Emma found herself in a church; a very old, very dusty church. She was lying on a pew – he must've found her unconscious and just assumed the worst.

"You're a priest…seriously?" she said sarcastically, pointing out the obvious. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked around nervously.

"Well, yes, this is a church…my church" he added hesitantly. She allowed him to help her to her feet, using the pews for support as she brushed the dust from her black clothes. Emma didn't know much about churches, but every church she had ever been dragged to was immaculately clean with stained glass images depicting the crucifixion of Christ. Not this place – it was gloomy and depressing. There were raw iron designs reinforcing the windows and Emma suspected they were so old and rusted they would snap like a twig.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice quivering. Emma studied the man before her – the way his hands trembled, his disheveled appearance, the defeated look in his eyes. She had lived with enough drunks to know the signs. He reminded her of a mouse with his wide, pleading eyes, straggly hair, and his twitchy, nervous demeanor. There was something pathetic about him, she could see he was eager to be useful and to help her, but there was an underlying shame that was clearly communicated in his wide eyes.

"Could you tell me where I am?" she asked, not sure she wanted the answer.

"Middleborough…" he whispered, leaning against a pew.

"Could you be more specific?" Emma asked, trying to suppress a smile at the utterly confused look on his face. "What country am I in?"

"Uh, the UK." He stammered. Emma chuckled as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She was ready to scream, ready to cry; to collapse on the ground laughing.

"Is it so much to ask to wake up? I mean, I guess I should at least be grateful that I'm on the right planet in the right galaxy, but is it too much to ask to go home?" Emma rubbed her eyes as she apologized, raising her eyes to meet him. He wore a worried and incredulous stare that clearly stated _oh-my-God-this-woman-is-off-her-rocker_.

"I'm Emma…" she whispered, defeated.

"Father MacAvoy…" he replied.

"It's nice to meet you, Father…" she said, smiling kindly. He nodded and suddenly seemed to come to life.

"Can I help you with anything? Are you hungry, or thirsty? Do you need to call someone for help?" Emma smiled at his eagerness to be of assistance, and she didn't want to disappoint him by turning him down.

"Um, I am kind of hungry…" before she could finish he was ushering her to the kitchen, which as it happened was upstairs where he lived. Emma followed him up the stone staircase slowly, the last thing she needed was a head injury – than she'd never wake up. The apartment upstairs was in an expected state of disarray much like the man himself. While it wasn't nearly as dusty as it was downstairs, it was twice as cluttered. He scrambled around the kitchen, washing a pan and some plates.

"Did you want anything to eat in particular? I can make some eggs, or I have bread, I can make some grilled cheese sandwiches…" his voice trailed off, the look of shame filling his eyes once more.

"Oh, I will never say no to a grilled cheese," Emma said excitedly, practically licking her lips. In fact, after she wakes up and rescues Mary Margaret, a grilled cheese will be the first thing she makes. Father MacAvoy smiled brightly like he had done something right, as he began preparing their lunch.

"Excuse me if this sounds disrespectful, Father, but do you have a first name? It's just that I feel strange calling you Father when I'm dating you – or a man who looks just like you," she corrected quickly, "and I don't want to call you by your last name."

"Robert…" he said so quietly that Emma strained to hear him. She repeated the name with a smile, "Do you have any family; brothers, sisters; parents?" He only shook his head _no_ in response. Emma wondered if they had died, or if they were still alive and just refused to see him.

"I know what that's like; I grew up an orphan. I never had a family to call my own." Emma said sympathetically as he handed her a plate. He nodded in understanding and said nothing more.

Emma bit into the sandwich like it was French cuisine, and nothing had ever tasted better. When she opened her eyes he was staring at her, but not in a predatory way. He looked almost grateful, like he couldn't believe she was here. She smiled self-consciously and he dropped his gaze, suddenly realizing her discomfort.

"Have you always been a priest, Robert?" The words were out before she realized what she was saying. "I'm sorry, I've just never really met a priest before…" he smiled as he waved dismissively.

"Uh, yes, well, since I was about twenty. I always knew I was called to serve, to help people…" his voice trailed off. It was obviously painful for him being a priest with a problem like alcoholism. The loneliness probably only made it that much worse.

"So, you've been a priest for twenty-five, thirty years?" she prodded, trying to get his approximate age.

"Indeed, about twenty-five years now…" there was a small measure of pride in his voice as he answered – perhaps proud that despite everything he hadn't walked away entirely.

"Didn't you ever want to get married or have a family?" Emma couldn't stop herself from asking as it was the one thing she always wondered about.

"Of course I did, but I knew as a teenager I was meant to be a priest. Lucky for me, I suppose, I could barely look at a girl much less talk with one…I was painfully shy. I just decided it was better to never know what I would be missing, otherwise I may have been led away from my calling by lust." Emma smiled, looking at him in amazement. Other than her son, she couldn't think of anything that was worth that amount of sacrifice and devotion.

Emma studied him as he finished his lunch watching as the trembling in his hands worsened, wondering how long it had been since his last drink. It was a mystery to her how a man, who was so certain of his calling for so long, suddenly cracks and fades away. The man before her seemed to be exactly the way Gold was after his wife left. Though he was broken, a resilient and silent strength kept him alive and moving forward.

"Emma, may I ask what happened? You seemed disoriented…said some, confusing things downstairs. How is it you ended up in Middleborough – in my church, without knowing where you were?" Emma scoffed to herself and nodded in agreement – confusing was one way to put it.

"Trust me, Robert; you wouldn't believe me if I told you…" Emma said laughing to herself. How do you explain to a hallucination that they aren't really there? That you're the real one? Oh, a person could go crazy thinking about this.

"Try me…" he challenged, trying to be useful in any capacity. Emma raised her eyebrows as if to say, _alright, but I warned you._

"Well, I am the Sheriff of a small town in Maine, USA. My friend was being framed for murder and she somehow escaped from jail and I was trying to find her. I was so upset that I didn't see this guy until I almost hit with my car. So, I offered to give him a ride home and he drugged me…" Emma began, taking a sip of her water.

"When I 'woke up', I was in Africa where I met the first version of my boyfriend; Carl Benton. Next, I woke up on a ship on the other side of the universe with a Dr. named Rush. Now, I am with you – Father Robert MacAvoy in the UK. It's anyone's guess where I'll end up next." To his credit, he didn't look as confused as she thought he would.

"Were you…hurt, by the man who, uh, drugged you?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"I don't know I haven't woken up yet; hence the traveling through space meeting my boyfriend over and over." The priest pinched his nose and Emma could hear him thinking, _'I need a drink'_. It actually didn't sound like too bad of an idea; but the idea of drinking with an alcoholic priest made her stomach turn.

"When you say that you keep meeting your boyfriend over and over…what exactly are you saying?" It's a good thing this was all a dream, Emma could only imagine what this man was thinking right now.

"Well, each time I wake up someplace new, I see a new version of my boyfriend. I think each one is a different manifestation of all the aspects of his personality." She stopped before she elaborated on that point too much.

"Ah, I see…" he stammered, probably thinking he needed to have her committed. "Does he have multiple personalities, then?" Emma wasn't sure if that was a real question or a joke, but given the way she was laughing she hoped it was the latter. It took her a moment to realize he was laughing with her.

"Oh, thank you…I needed that." She said, brushing the tears from her cheeks. "Sometimes I do think he has multiple personalities, but he's just guarded. He keeps pieces of himself buried and closed off while wearing a façade for the rest of the world. Like me…"

"Yes, well, we all have our buried secrets, don't we? There's nothing unique about that…" the priest said darkly. If there was a perfect time to ask, Emma knew this was it.

"What happened here, Father?" she whispered, watching his body twitch anxiously at her question. "I'm not judging or anything, but I could smell the whiskey all over you and it looks like no one has cleaned or set foot downstairs in quite some time." His eyes welled as he averted her knowing gaze. There was a long silence and Emma decided not to push or press him – to let him speak when he was ready.

"This place used to shine," he began, closing his eyes as if picturing it in his mind. "Every Sunday was packed with families; old couples, new couples; children laughing everywhere. I never stopped a child from laughing or _'being disruptive'_ as some would say. There was a rather large youth group that I used to teach and I would take their confessions and counsel them weekly." He paused, swallowing the tears building behind his eyes.

"This one day, a young girl confessed to me that her father had been molesting her, going as far as to rape her. She was about thirteen at the time; it started when she was ten." A shiver tore through Emma's spine as she grasped his hand in hers. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was talking about her.

"But because she told me in confession, I was bound to keep her secret. I asked for her permission – begged her to let me tell her mother. She denied me. I told her that she needed to tell her mother; she wouldn't. I then told her to tell her father that she'd spoken to me and that I said it needed to stop. A few weeks later, her father came to confession; _smiling_ as he confessed all the sick and depraved things he'd done to his own daughter." Malice laced his words; his eyes were dark and murderous as his hand trembled in Emma's.

"I wanted to break my oath and tell the police; I didn't care what other's thought, what the church thought. I just…I couldn't imagine that God ever meant for confession to conceal something like this. For evil to confess their sins without remorse and get a free pass to continue sinning. Alas, I remained silent and while I was struggling with what I should do; she killed herself."

Emma moved from her seat and stood behind, wrapping her arms across his chest. He clutched her arm desperately, willing her not to let him go. Emma couldn't even imagine carrying the weight of that around; she also understood the impulse of wanting to end your life after being used and abused so long. It wasn't her place to pass judgment or forgiveness, but at least in this moment, she could show him some much needed compassion.

"She had mailed me a letter on the day she died; I received it the day of her burial. She asked for my forgiveness; said that she couldn't take it anymore. She told me that she was sorry, but she couldn't tear her family apart. She said that she didn't blame me and asked me not to blame myself. After that, my faith was never the same and I lost a little more every day. I had the power – the opportunity – to end an innocent child's suffering. It's what we're meant to do – what we're called to do…and I failed her. I failed her…" The tears fell freely from his eyes, no longer trying to stop them.

"Oh, Father…it wasn't your fault; the damage had already been done." She whispered, pressing her cheek to his greasy hair. Emma swallowed her own tears, shuddering to think how close she came to sharing the same fate as the young woman he spoke of.

"It's why she told you not to blame yourself. She had already made up her mind to do it. It doesn't make you a bad person or even a bad priest. There was nothing more you could have done if she wasn't willing to face it…" Emma kissed his forehead, not even conscious of whether it was appropriate or not; nor did she care.

She doesn't know how long she held him there; whispering repeatedly that it wasn't his fault before his breathing eventually evened out and his weeping began to cease. She lingered a few more moments, hugging him against her. For all she knew, as a priest, he hasn't been held in twenty-five years. It was far too long to go without the comforting touch of another person, especially when bearing the weight of such a terrible secret. When his body seemed to relax beneath her tough, the last of his tears shed, Emma resumed her seat in front of him.

"Thank you…" he breathed in a whisper, a relieved smile forming on his lips.

"You're welcome…" she said, squeezing his had reassuringly. They sat in silence a moment longer, when he quietly excused himself from the table. In his absence, Emma decided to tidy up his kitchen, scrubbing pots and pans and reclaiming counter space that hasn't seen daylight in quite some time.

"You didn't have to do that…" he whispered from behind her. Emma smiled as she turned to face him – he had shaved and washed his face. His face was red and puffy, his eyes still red rimmed and bloodshot, but the twitchy nervousness was gone. Replaced perhaps by a sense of relief and peace.

"I know, but I wanted to." Emma was stunned when she felt his hand on her arm, pulling her into a tight embrace. Her hands remained awkwardly at her side before she wrapped them around his waist, returning his embrace.

"You're a God-send, Emma, truly. How can I repay you?" Emma pulled back meeting his eyes, reminding herself to speak gently.

"You can get sober and get on with your life…" he nodded with a smile and moved beside her.

"I will do my best…" he promised sincerely, as he began drying the dishes and putting them away. "If you don't mind my saying, you seemed to speak from some kind of experience…" he said in the lingering silence, letting the implication hang in the air. It wasn't something Emma felt the need to talk about.

"We all have our buried secrets, Father…" Emma replied solemnly, ending the conversation before it began.

"Well, if you ever wish to remedy that, I will listen…" Emma smiled and thanked him. "So, do you need a place to stay? Can I give you ride somewhere or call someone for you?"

"Well, as I said, I'm dreaming. So at any moment, I will wake up somewhere else…or just wake up entirely."

"Just for the record, I would be careful who you say that to. Someone is bound to think you're crazy and might try to hospitalize you."

"What…you don't think I'm crazy?" Emma teased, laughing at the smile that was a dead giveaway. "You _do_ think I'm crazy…!"

"I never said that," he said, laughing with her. "But I do think those drugs are still in your system…" Emma laughed as she knew that was exactly the case. She would say that she was having fun meeting all these different Gold's, save for the fact that they all have tragic pasts or a dead wife. Then again, they _are_ all Gold so they would share similar pasts. However, it was definitely becoming the most interesting thing that has ever happened to her and she was actually looking forward to telling Gold all about it.

"I meant what I said, Emma; if you ever have need of anything, I will do all I can for you."

"Thank you, Father, that's very kind of you –"

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Emma blinked several times, looking around in stunned confusion, no longer talking to Father MacAvoy. She was on a red leather couch staring into the face of a much younger Gold. His hair was shaved Military style, not a wrinkle creased his skin. They locked eyes breathlessly; Emma didn't fall asleep, she just appeared before this man. He stared in disbelief at the bottle of alcohol in his hand, and moved his eyes back to her.

"What year is this?" Emma asked fearfully. His mouth gaped open, his eyes widening in bewilderment as he stared at her.

"19…95" he whispered, eyeing her skeptically. Emma punched the couch in a huff of anger.

"Well that's just perfect…now I'm traveling through time!?"

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Please Review!

Next is some fun with Hamish MacBeth in Lochdubh (pronounced Lock-Doo...)


	4. Not Shakespeares MacBeth Hamish MacBeth

A/N: This story was initially _much_ longer and I had to shorten most of dialogue in the bar scene (my humble apologies). I easily could have turned this into a full on romance (which I just might end up doing anyway. Any takers?) I do not own once upon a time or hamish macbeth or any other characters here in. Enjoy and Please Review!

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Emma closed her eyes, pressing her lips in a tight line as she chided herself. _Because yelling about time travel won't earn you a trip to the mental hospital._ She avoided his incredulous stare, looking around the room she found herself in. She was beside a fireplace set in a white brick wall; a flannel blanket was draped over the back of the red leather sofa. A small dog jumped up next to her, wagging his tail excitedly. As Emma scratched behind his ear, she turned her gaze back to the man before her. He wore a frightened and confused expression as he scratched the back of his head.

"I've only had one drink and you just…appeared out of nowhere. Am I dreamin'?" his words were heavily accented, more so than what Emma was used to. He wore a slate blue button down shirt with the top buttons open; his feet bare in a pair of blue jeans. A smile formed on her lips as she met his familiar honey brown eyes.

"No, I'm dreaming, actually. Don't worry, you're not crazy…" Emma assured him.

"Right then…" he replied, pouring another drink.

"Could you tell me where I am?" he gave her the same blank stare as Father MacAvoy.

"Uh, you're in my home. I live above the police station, I'm the constable here." Emma wasn't sure exactly what a constable did, but she knew it was a level of law enforcement. "And where is here?"

"Lochdubh; uh, Scotland…" Emma nodded, wondering if this was the original village Gold came from.

"I'm Emma Swan," she said, extending her hand toward him. He stared at her, than at her outstretched hand uncertainly. After downing the liquid that remained in his glass, he hesitantly grasped her hand.

"Hamish MacBeth…" he said; the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. "…so, uh, where are ya from?"

"I'm an American; I'm actually the Sheriff of a small town in Maine."

"Ah, so you keep the peace as well, eh?" he said, seeming to relax slightly at that.

"It's a fairly quiet town, most days it's a pretty easy job…" _Except when the Mayor is framing your friends for murder…_ she wanted to say. An awkward silence filled the room and Hamish rose to his feet.

"Would you, uh; would you like me to show ya around? We have a few hours of daylight left..." he offered unexpectedly. Emma smiled and agreed excitedly, she hadn't done much exploring of the places she's been to; it would be good to get some fresh air.

"Bu' no' dressed like that," he said looking at her clothing distastefully as he headed for his bedroom. Emma looked down at her black tank top and pants; wondering what was wrong with them. Hamish returned fully dressed in a black leather jacket and handed Emma a soft, gray fleece pull over. "This is Scotland, lass, you'll freeze in that."

"Thank you…" Emma zipped it quickly, following him to the front door.

"Shall we?" he asked smiling. Emma slipped passed him, stepping onto the gravel road, breathing deeply the cold, crisp air. The sun was hidden behind an overcast and gray sky, the damp cold setting immediately in her bones. The station sat on a lakeshore, stretching across to a lush tree line and rolling hills beyond it.

"I wish my station had a view like this." She said smiling as Hamish led her down the road.

"Aye, I fish there quite often; jus' don'nae tell anyone." He said, his light eyes dancing mischievously.

"So, have you been a constable long?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Aye, it's been quite a few years now. I'm the eldest of seven children and when it was time for me to get a job, I wanted somethin' easy…" Emma shot him a surprised look.

"So you chose police work? That qualifies as something easy?" she asked, laughing incredulously. Hamish nodded as he laughed with her.

"Well, as I said, I'm more interested in keepin' the peace. I don'nae wan' any promotions, so, I do the bare minimum of my job to ensure that I stay here." He admitted sheepishly.

"You must truly love it here…" Emma said, feeling a pang of jealousy. She didn't begrudge people their happiness, but she was envious of people who had roots – people who loved a place so much that they couldn't bear the thought of leaving. She has never stayed in a place longer than two years. Perhaps now that she had Henry, Gold, and Mary, she would get it right this time around and let herself settle down.

"Aye, I do..." he said, glancing at the familiar scenery. "So, Emma, tell me, how does one travel through time?" he asked wearing a bemused expression; a slight edge to his voice. Emma had hoped that he had forgotten that comment off, but so such luck.

"I'm not actually traveling through time; you're just a much younger version of my boyfriend." At the glare he gave her, Emma knew he wasn't buying it.

"Nice try, love. The first thing you asked me was what year it was and when I told ya, you went white as a ghost." He paused, kicking small stones with his feet. Emma was fearful that this was the moment he'd tell her he was calling the men in the white coats.

"Now, I consider myself to be a fairly rational person Emma, but you just appeared on my couch. You didn't walk in the front door or climb through a window – one minute I was alone havin' myself a drink, the next moment you were in my living room. Now, either I am hallucinatin' or you're really travelin' through time."

"How about we just agree to not talk about it? Pretend that I walked through your door instead of landing on your couch…?" She suggested hopefully, not wanting to try explaining this again.

"Done; after you tell me what's goin' on…" he said, clearly curious to know what actually happened. Emma rolled her eyes and huffed in frustration as she crossed her arms over her chest. She recounted the whole crazy story from Regina framing Mary Margaret up until this point. He looked a little worried when she told him about meeting all the different versions of Gold and what happened in each scenario.

"So, you're dating an older version of me twenty years in the future?" he repeated in disbelief. Emma smiled at the fact that in her entire story, that was what he retained.

"Something like that." A playful smirk played on his lips as he quirked a quizzical eyebrow.

"I'm a very lucky man," Emma couldn't help but laugh as it wasn't quite the reaction she was expecting. "You know, if you stay here we could be the same age and reach old age together rather than start with a twenty year gap…" She felt her face flush pink at the statement.

"I think your girlfriend would disapprove…" Emma said with a smirk, certain there was no chance that this man was single.

"I doubt it," he said sadly, watching his feet as they walked. Emma steeled her nerves, preparing for the dramatic tale that was sure to follow. "She left me…moved to London to pursue her career."

"She _left_ you?" Emma repeated astonished, thrilled that the woman was still alive. Save for the flash of pain in his eyes at the loss, Emma was relieved that there seemed to be no dark secret or traumatic pain that marred his soul.

"Aye, can you believe it?"

"No…" Emma whispered, smiling brightly as she held his gaze. "No, I can't…"

Emma swore the man blushed as he diverted his gaze to the ground, a broad smile spreading across his cheeks. They walked quietly as Emma studied his face, trying to be discreet as she stared at him. His brown eyes appeared almost gold, vivacious and full of life. Emma always thought Gold was handsome, but with his boyish charm and youthful vigor, Hamish MacBeth was downright edible. She wished she could have met this version Gold, before all the trauma dimmed the brightness she found in this man's eyes. Hamish suddenly stopped walking and Emma looked around at the buildings confused.

"When did we get to town?" A guttural laugh sounded from Hamish as they stood outside the Lochdubh Hotel.

"The town is just one street, Emma, this is it." Emma was sure he was joking, shaking her head in amazement.

"You brought me to a bar?" she asked teasingly, mocking offense as if he had an ulterior motive.

"After the story you just told me I figure you could use a drink…" There was no denying that fact and Emma chuckled nervously. "…but I think before we go in we should get our story straight."

"Our story?" she asked confused.

"Well, I can'nae tell them you're dreamin' or travelin' through time…"

"Oh, right…um, let me come up with a story, just play along with whatever I say." He nodded in agreement and started into the pub as Emma pulled him back.

"I don't want to stay very long on the off chance I just materialize into thin air…that might be hard to explain." He chuckled, leading Emma by hand into the pub.

"Ah, Hamish…" the tall man called from behind the bar. "Hey Barney," Emma walked close behind him as they approached the counter.

"And who is this vision of loviness?" An older gentleman asked, standing from his stool beside her. Emma's eyes widened as she smiled at the taller, much older man wearing a kilt and a black beret. She tried to hide her amusement, having never expected to see a grown man in red plaid skirt.

"Lads, this is Emma Swan; Emma this Barney Meldrum and John McIver." Emma nodded politely, shaking their hands. "Barney here owns the hotel with his wife Agnes."

"Can I get you anything, Emma?" Barney offered.

"Uh, do you have Johnnie Walker; black?"

"Do I have Johnnie Walker? You're in the country it originated from, lass, of course I have it…" he said laughing, filling a glass. Hamish pulled out a seat for her and sat beside her at the bar.

"So, where are you from Emma?" John asked, leaning his elbow on the counter.

"America; Maine specifically." She said, sipping her drink slowly.

"How did you find your way into our little town?" Barney asked.

"Kind of by accident…I took a wrong turn and ended up here." she said with a slight grin.

"Oh, what a lovely new face…" Emma turned to see a beautiful older woman joining Barney's side. She had straight, short blonde hair and a genuine smile as she stared at Emma.

"You must be Agnes…" Emma said, holding out her head. The woman crooked her head as she shook Emma's hand. "I'm Emma; Hamish was just telling me about you."

"Oh, that Hamish, such a good boy…" the older blonde said affectionately. "Well, welcome to Lochdubh, Emma. Will you be staying long? Do you need a room?" Emma waved her hand dismissively, shaking her head.

"No, thank you. Mr. MacBeth was kind enough to offer to let me stay at the station." The couple exchanged curious glances as Hamish shrugged his shoulder dismissively.

"Shall we sit at a table?" Hamish asked, collecting their drinks. Emma nodded to the Meldrum's as she followed Hamish to a nearby table; sitting beside him in the booth.

"So, you ended up here by mistake…" John said, staring skeptically at Emma with a smile. She nodded with a mouthful of whiskey, looking to Hamish. He winked at her with a mischievous grin. "I don't believe in coincidence, Miss Swan…"

John told her all about his 'sight' and how he was able to see things and predict the future. Once upon a time Emma might have laughed and called him crazy, but given that she has just traveled through space and time she had no right to talk.

"Hamish, aren't you going to introduce us to your new friend?" asked a voice from behind her. Emma turned to see a handsome man smoking a pipe, leering down at her…also wearing a skirt.

"Oh, Doc Brown, this is Emma; Emma that's Doc and this is Lachland and Lachy Jr. McRae." Hamish said, emphasizing the _ch _in their names; Emma smiled and nodded to each one.

"May we join you?" Lachland asked, as they all sat before getting an answer. Emma moved closer to Hamish, who gave her confused look. She played it off, thanking Barney for the refill as he maneuvered through the crowd to hand it to her.

"Me llamo Lachy Jr…" the young man said, sitting across from her. Emma giggled as his father rolled his eyes. "That's enough of the Spanish for now, Lachy.

"And what brings you to our town, Emma?" Doc asked before Emma could respond, setting his pipe between his teeth. "Fate…" she answered simply, getting curious looks from around the table. "…at least according to Mr. McIver here…" Emma was hoping to avoid answering that question all together.

There was a collective 'ah' and nods of understanding around the table as they praised the talents of the local 'seer'. Hamish seemed skeptical about the notion, but kept his opinions to himself. The bond between Hamish and John was obvious as the bantering and laughter continued among them. Emma watched him closely, intrigued at seeing Gold being so social and likeable. She felt suddenly out of place as a wave of sadness passed over her.

It was easy to see why Hamish was so fond of this place, of these people. There was obviously great affection and camaraderie between them and Emma again found herself envious. She didn't have friends who knew her this well; who were involved in her life the way these people were with each other. Emma was on guard her whole life – walls up and closed off to relationships. But here tonight she discovered that she longed for it, that she wanted these kinds of friendships in her life. And now in Storybrooke, she actually had the chance to form them.

Emma couldn't remember the last time she laughed so hard, listening as they shared stories and tales of the good old days. It seemed to eventually turn into a competition of who could tell the most embarrassing story. She didn't understand most of what was said given the thickness of their accents combined with the known effect of alcohol to slur speech. It was interesting to say the least and Emma found herself having the time of her life. As the night wore on, she grew tired and increasingly nauseas, but she didn't want to leave. They were loud and boisterous, but they were kind and warm. She had never felt so welcomed, so accepted anywhere in all her life. If Emma could have chosen to stay here, she likely would have.

Emma clutched Hamish's arm, whispering in his ear that they needed to leave. The crowd protested loudly and Emma blushed as they pleaded with her to stay. "I leave quite early tomorrow to go home, and I would just like to thank all of you. I've lived in a lot of places and I have never met a better group of people." Emma raised her glass, sad at the fact that she would be leaving – that they weren't real.

"I'll drink to that…" John said, raising his glass, as did everyone else.

"We expect you to come back now, lassie…" Lachland Sr. said with a raised eyebrow. Emma nodded, as she received a hug from each one of them as Hamish tried to get her to the door.

Emma crossed her arms over her chest, guarding against the biting wind as Hamish led her into the brutally cold night. "I really enjoyed your friends…" She said, a genuine smile spread ear to ear. Hamish smiled, nodding enthusiastically in agreement.

"Aye, they're a rowdy bunch, but I couldn't imagine life here without 'em."

"You're very lucky…" she whispered softly.

"Aye, indeed I am…" A crooked grin formed on Emma's lips and she had to ask.

"Do they always wear skirts?" Hamish laughed deeply, tightening his grip around her shoulders.

"They're called kilts; and no, they don'nae wear them all the time."

"A rose by any other name…?" Hamish laughed harder as they walked quickly back to the station. "Do _you_ wear them?" Emma asked teasingly, trying to envision Gold in a skirt.

"I own one. Each kilt is specific to a clan or family, but I don'nae wear it."

"What if I asked you to?" Emma asked flirtatiously. Hamish cocked an eyebrow at her as they reached the station; he seemed grateful for the distraction of unlocking the door. He stood in the doorway blocking her entrance as he smiled down at Emma.

"Are you flirting with me, Sheriff Swan?" he asked; a mischievous grin on his face. Emma stepped closer to the door, their bodies almost touching as she sought the warmth of the building.

"It's entirely possible, Constable MacBeth." Emma had never wanted to kiss a man more than in this moment when their faces were so close. "Am I allowed in?" she whispered softly. Hamish silently stepped aside as Emma practically ran to the dwindling fireplace. He was by her side in an instant, adding a log and stoking the fire.

"Before I vanish into thin air, I just wanted to say thank you; I had a really good time tonight."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it." He said, somewhat sadly. "It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Emma."

"The pleasure was mine, Hamish" Emma sat on the couch in front of the fire, draping the flannel blanket around her shoulders. "If you ever find yourself in Maine look me up…" she said teasingly.

"Lassie, you've got yourself a date…" he said with a wink, leaning his elbow on the mantel. Before he could say another word, Emma found herself on the side of a highway in the dark. There were hardly any cars as she began walking, unsure of where she was or where she was heading. At least the weather was warm, unlike that of Scotland where it was freezing and damp. Hitchhiking at night on an abandoned highway sounds more like the beginning of a bad horror movie and Emma walked quickly in search of shelter.

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A/N: Like I said, I had so much fun writing this chapter I just might make it it's own story. This takes place just after Alex left and before Hamish discovers his feelings for Isobel. Next Emma meets the ever charming Frank Keane...


	5. The Son of a Baker Man

A/N: My apologies for the delay. I have no idea why this chapter took so long; but here it is. I hope you enjoy it and as always; please review. It feeds my creativity :)

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Headlights flashed brightly in her eyes and Emma looked up, waving him down. She couldn't see anything other than it was a large van and fear gripped her heart, wondering who she would be encountering. As the truck came to a stop, Emma approached the passenger side window relieved to see his familiar face.

"Is e'rything alright, Miss?" he asked, leaning on the steering wheel.

"Um, no; I'm lost…" Emma replied. It seemed to be the easiest answer to start with that raised the least amount of questions. He opened the door for her without question and Emma climbed in, eager to be off the road. The smell of fresh bread filled her nose as she buckled her seatbelt.

"Where are you heading?" he asked softly, his words slightly accented.

"I don't even know where I am…" Emma was quickly beginning to hate this part – where she tried to explain how she just ended up in their path.

"Pasadena, Texas." He replied, a confounded expression on his face. Emma nodded in relief. At least she was back in the right country. "Where are you from?"

"Maine." His head snapped in her direction as he stared at her.

"How did you end up here?"

"I'm not sure, actually; I, uh, I don't remember much…" Emma stammered softly. The man's expression turned serious.

"Do you need me to take you to a hospital or to the police?" he asked, concern lacing his trembling voice.

"No…I'm fine really." There was an awkward pause and Emma wasn't sure what to do or say next. "So, uh, where are you heading?"

"Work." Emma waited for him to continue, but that seemed to be all he would tell her.

"And what is it that you do?" she prodded.

"I bake bread. I uh, own the company." Emma couldn't help but notice that he seemed uncomfortable answering questions about himself. Emma shook her head in amusement; Mr. Gold as a baker would be a sight to see.

"May I tag along until I figure out a plan?" Emma asked hesitantly, hoping he would just agree. The man shrugged his shoulder and turned to Emma with a smile.

"I don't see why not…" he said softly. Emma sighed in relief as she turned her head to face him.

"I'm Emma Swan…"

"Frank Keane." He said, barely nodding his head.

"Well, thank you for your kindness Frank…" Weariness had set itself in her bones and she rested her head against the seat. Silence fell over them as he drove in the darkness. She still didn't quite understand why she was so worried of being 'found out' considering the fact she was dreaming – none of this was real.

The ride was over before she knew it and Emma found herself in a darkened alleyway, outside what looked like a warehouse or storage unit. She followed him cautiously inside as she looked around. It was expansive with a large wooden table in the center of the room surrounded by stoves, ovens, pots, and pans. Emma watched as he turned them on, setting to work immediately.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked. It was the least she could do since he gave her a ride. He raised his eyes to meet her, a faint smile painted on his lips. It was then Emma noticed his bottom lip was bleeding.

"Uh, yes, if you'd like to help I can give you a thing or two to do." Emma smiled and nodded eagerly. "Just wash your hands there…" he said, motioning to the sink behind her. Emma complied immediately as he went to the refrigerator, pulling out a tray of dough. Emma joined him at the table as he showed her what to do.

"You're going to grease each pan, then take a handful of cornmeal and sprinkle it on like that." He then pulled off a piece of precut dough and tossed it between his flour-covered hands. "Then you do this a few times and place it on the pan." Emma smiled as she watched him.

"Sounds simple enough…" she said, dousing her hands in flour. Emma watched him amused beneath hooded eyes. Only Gold would be a baker and wear a suit shirt while doing it. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt; the flour was already sticking to his clothes and skin. Emma smiled as she couldn't help but think that he looked sexy standing at the end of the table with his shaggy hair in his eyes; his hands expertly kneading a large ball of dough.

"So, do you always work at night alone?" she asked breaking the silence. He lifted his head in surprise at the sound of her voice as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"I have a few other bakers who work for me, but sometimes I like the quiet. It gives me time to think…" Emma nodded but said nothing as she tossed another ball of dough between her hands.

"What about you? What do you do for a living, Emma?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

"I'm Sheriff of a small town in Maine…" she answered quickly, trying to avoid having the same conversation in every scenario but it was proving difficult. These are the most basic questions people ask each other. He nodded slowly with an expression Emma couldn't quite place. "What?"

"A Sheriff from Maine ends up in Texas with no memory of how she got here, and she doesn't want to go to the police." He said, letting the implication linger in the air. He didn't seem angry, but it was obvious he thought she was lying. Plus, Frank seemed like one of those good guys who would demand justice once she told him she had been drugged.

"Alright, fine; I do remember; I just don't want to talk about it." She stated firmly, hoping he would just drop the subject.

"Were you hurt?" he asked, not meeting her eyes as he set the first round of trays in the oven. Emma wanted to yell at him, tell him it was none of his business; but he was only concerned for her.

"No, if I had been I would've gone to a hospital and the police." Emma sighed heavily when he still didn't seem convinced. "Look, it's just that I have no phone, no money and no ID;. I can't prove who I am one way or the other." The handsome baker gave her a sympathetic smile.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pressed." He said, distracting himself in his work. Emma smiled to herself and nodded; he was apologizing for a nice guy and making sure she was ok.

"Don't worry about it. You're just being a nice guy. I know better than anyone how hard it is to find men like you…" Emma said as she winked at him. He smiled shyly, whispering a thank you in reply. Shy didn't seem the right word to describe him, while he was quiet and reserved, he didn't seem antisocial. There was a sense of sadness about him, even when he would smile and meet her eyes she just wanted to hug him. Emma was getting the feeling she is the presence of another man with a tragic past.

"I'm sorry; I couldn't help but notice your lip is bleeding." Emma said, changing the subject.

"Oh, yea," he said with a slight chuckle. "I was in a bit of brawl tonight."

"Ah…bar fight?" Emma assumed. Frank was soft spoken and seemed very sweet; she couldn't quite imagine him in a bar fight. He scoffed and shook his head.

"Ballroom dancin'…" he said sheepishly; Emma's eyes widened in surprise as she tried not to laugh. She nodded her head slowly, biting her bottom lip.

"Wow, I never knew ballroom dancing could be so…dangerous." She no sooner spoke the last word that they erupted into a fit of laughter.

"Neither did I." he said, laughing lightly. Emma leaned on the edge of the table as she tried to control her laughter. Gold would get a kick out of this one – a ballroom dancing baker.

"So, what happened? Did you step on the other guy's toes or something?" she asked, truly curious to know what would start a fist fight during a ballroom dancing class.

"In a manner of speaking," he answered cryptically. At Emma's expectant stare he clarified, "there's this girl…"

"Ah, well now it all makes sense." Emma said smiling brightly at him. She finished the second tray and set it aside as she began greasing the third. "Have you been dancing long?"

"Nope…this was only my third class."

"And you've already gotten into a fight…" she stated in mock disapproval.

"Yea, and last week he slashed my tires..." At that, Emma's eyes widened and the smile fell from her face as her joking ceased.

"Who is this guy?"

"Her step-brother…" at Emma's astonished glare, he nodded. "Yea, I know; it's complicated."

"Sounds like it." Emma shook her head incredulously, baffled at the dynamics of that situation. But it didn't concern her, and Emma tried not to think about it.

"Do you enjoy it? Dancing, I mean…" A genuine smile spread across his cheeks and Emma knew the answer before he said it.

"I do, very much actually…" he said as if surprised himself that he enjoyed it.

"What do you like about it?" Emma asked intrigued.

"It's hard to put into words, um; as Miss Hotchkiss put it – _dance is a very powerful drug that can exorcise demons and access deep-seated emotion and color my life in shades of magenta I never knew existed_…" there was a playful smirk on his face as he spoke and Emma had to stifle a laugh at the last bit.

"Can you show me?" she asked hopefully. He gave her a surprised and questioning look, suddenly nervous as he met her eyes.

"How do you mean?"

"I'm asking you to dance with me, Mr. Keane." She clarified. At that he smiled as he walked to the sink, washing the flour from his hands. Emma followed suit and met him back in the middle of the floor.

"I'm still learning," he said, awkwardly placing his hand on her hip. "I don't know that I'll be a very good teacher."

"It's ok, you're still more advanced than I am…" she said giggling as he placed her hand on his shoulder. Emma wasn't quite sure why she was doing this, but his whole demeanor changed when he began talking about dance. It was as if he regained some sense of confidence that had been damaged or lost.

"Well, we learned the merengue tonight…" he said, as if asking for her permission. Emma only knew the waltz by name, the rest of it was lost on her.

"Yea, sure…that sounds fine." She said, with no clue as to what she just agreed to. Once they were in hold, he began to count down.

"And side together, side together; back together, back together; forward together, forward together; you turn in place and…" As he counted off again, Emma watched his feet and tried to follow the relatively simple steps. Without music it was strange, but he led her around the floor with ease. Emma accidently stepped on his toes, instantly breaking their hold.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her face flushing crimson. "I'm not very good at this…" He smiled brightly at her, resuming his hold as he pulled her closer.

"Nonsense; you're doing fine. Better than my first time..." He assured her.

"Well, if I'm doing well it's only because you're a good teacher."

"I'm not so sure about that, but thank you just the same." He counted off again and she allowed him to lead, giggling each time he twirled her. For a split second she felt like a child again, pretending she was dancing with Prince Charming. As she gained confidence in what she was doing, she began to understand what he meant when he said it was a powerful drug. It was exhilarating and she loved it already. Emma looked at his left hand curiously, astonished when she saw it was bare.

"You're a good man, Frank Keane. How come you're not married?" she asked with a smirk as she spun in place. When she met his eyes again, Emma knew she struck a nerve. While he didn't stop dancing, the smile fell from his face.

"I was married; she died." He stated; a guarded look on his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry…I shouldn't have asked."

"It's alright; I'm finally coming to terms with it. Something that dancin' helped me with, actually."

"Was that the, uh, demon that needed to be exorcised?" she asked. A faint smile formed and disappeared just as quickly.

"Yes, one of them, anyway," he said softly. "I always felt guilty after her death; like I didn't deserve to be happy or have any kind of life. It felt as though I were betraying her memory somehow." Emma nodded; he sounded almost exactly like Gold.

"Did you have any kids?"

"No, well…we did have a wee dog; Baguette was his name." Emma couldn't stifle the giggle that escaped her.

"Aww, that's so cute…naming your dog after bread." Frank chuckled at that nodding in agreement as he moved behind her. "Rita thought so too…" he whispered, as Emma stepped on his toes once more. Frank only smiled as she apologized again, dismissing it entirely.

"Well, I'm glad you've allowed yourself to move on. It's so easy to get chained to the past." She said as he spun her away from him.

"Indeed." He said pulling her back, smiling at her in wonder as their eyes locked. "So, is there a boyfriend or husband I have to worry about barging in and maybe blackening my other eye?" he asked teasingly.

"Well, there is a boyfriend, but he's in Maine. You're perfectly safe." Frank nodded at that, seeming relieved he would only be in one brawl tonight.

"What's he like?"

"A lot like you actually, I'm just realizing all the similarities and it's quite frightening." He cocked an eyebrow at that, curious to know more. "Such as…"

"Well, you look a lot alike; hair, eyes, face; he too speaks with a Scottish accent. He was in love with a woman long ago who died; I don't know the exact circumstances. But he blamed himself, denied himself any measure of happiness for years." Frank stared at her incredulously, their dance slowing down considerably.

"That is frightening; what part of Scotland is he from?" he asked. She looked thoughtful as she tried to remember.

"You know, I never asked him." She said in disbelief; his accent was so obvious she never thought to ask for an exact location. Emma decided that would be one of the first things she does when she wakes up.

"Well, regardless, he is a very lucky man." Emma blushed at the compliment, diverting her eyes to the floor.

"Why thank you, Mr. Keane…" Emma said, doing her best to curtsy. "…for both the compliment and the dance."

"You're welcome on both counts, darlin'." He said, bowing slightly; his eyes remaining fixed on hers. "I'm sure your boyfriend compliments you all the time."

"Most days, he seems intent on making me feel like a princess…"

"And so you should. Respecting a woman and treating her like a treasure is no hard task, Emma. Men should be glad to do it. It's still a mystery to me that there are _men_ who beat the ones they claim to love." There was an edge of anger to his voice and Emma wondered if he was talking more about this girl that earned him a bloody lip.

"Well, whoever she is, she's very lucky to have found you." He smiled as he nodded, his cheeks blushing at her words.

"I hope so." He said, barely above a whisper. A wave of dizziness hit her and Emma fell against the table, bracing herself on her forearms. Frank was behind her in an instant as her legs buckled beneath her.

"Emma, are you alright?" he asked, his wrapped firmly across her stomach. She rested against him, trying to regain her balance.

"I'm sorry, there must be a small amount of the drug left in my system." She said, gripping the edge of the table. "I just need to sit…" Her hand slipped from the table and Frank eased her gently to the flour covered floor. He cradled her in his arms as he shook her, tapping her face lightly to wake her up.

"Open your eyes, Emma…" he pleaded frantically, and she struggled to comply. "That's a good girl; stay with me, love…" Her eyes locked on his and she struggled to remain conscious.

"I need to call an ambulance…" he said breathlessly, though he made no motion to let her go.

"No, there's no need; I just need to sleep. It's alright, don't worry…" She whispered, resting her head against his chest. She felt his fingertips trace the edge of her face.

"What can I do?" he asked eagerly.

"Just hold me…" Instantly his grip tightened around her as he pulled her firm against him, rocking her gently in his arms. Her eyelids were heavy and as much as she wanted to stare into those eyes; she couldn't keep hers open.

"You're alright, love…" she heard him whisper repeatedly as he brushed the hair from her face.

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Thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed already; y'all are the best :)

We travel back to England next where we meet Eric Wirrel; ex-pro soccer player turned coach.


	6. Eric Wirrel

A/N: Again, I own nothing; not OUAT or There's Only One Jimmy Grimble...Enjoy!

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Emma could hear his voice as he shook her gently, tapping her cheek repeatedly. Why was he still trying to wake her up? She told him all she needed was sleep. The wind blew cold and Emma was suddenly aware that she was no longer indoors in Frank's arms. There was grass beneath her and despite the brightness of the sun, Emma was freezing.

"Come on…wake up, love," he said, tapping her cheek again. Emma struggled to open her eyes, turning her head into his chest to block out the sun.

"Where am I?" she asked hoarsely, her mouth dry as a desert.

"Greenock High School..." He said softly. Emma scoffed mentally, wondering why everyone felt the need to answer that question so specifically.

"City and country, please?" she asked in a huff of annoyance. There was a momentary silence as he cradled Emma against him; trying to see her face.

"Uh, Manchester, England." He answered. Emma finally forced her eyes open, squinting against the sun as she raised her eyes to meet his.

"Hi…" she whispered with a faint smile. A chuckle escaped his lips as he smiled down at her.

"Hi…" he said, draping her arm around his neck. "Come on, love…" Emma swayed with dizziness as he pulled her to her feet. They stood facing each other; his arms surrounded Emma ready to catch her should she fall. Her hands rested on his chest as she steadied herself. They were on a soccer field, or at least something that passed for one. There were no bleachers or anywhere to sit and there were no nets over the goals; it appeared to be more for practice than for games.

"Oh, you're so warm…" she whispered as she wrapped her arms around his waist, nestling closer to his body heat. He kept his hands out to the sides, afraid to touch her. As Emma's body trembled against him, he removed his windbreaker and draped it around Emma's shoulders, rubbing her arms and back to create friction. Emma was relieved when he didn't say anything or push her away; he just ran his hands over her back and arms trying to restore her body heat.

"I'm Emma Swan…" she said, lifting her head to meet his eyes.

"Eric Wirrel…" he said with a tight smile.

"Little?" she repeated, trying to understand his thick accent.

"No, Wir-rel" he said, annunciating each syllable. Emma was amazed at how soft spoken he was; combine that with his thick accent and it's no wonder she couldn't understand him.

"Oh, sorry, I'm American; you may have to speak a bit slower unless you want to just keep repeating yourself." She said, chuckling lightly. He laughed at that, holding her firm against him.

"Are you alright then, Love?"

"Oh, I'm fine…just a little lost." Emma said waving her hand dismissively. Eric quirked an eyebrow as a small smirk played on his lips.

"Yea, well, given the fact you didn't even know what country you're in; I'd say your more than _a little _lost."

"Do you work here?" she asked, changing the subject. Emma couldn't help but smile at the way he seemed to drown in soccer gear. He was small in size and his clothing seemed too big. She was wearing his windbreaker, but he had on at least two more layers of Adidas gear on. Not that she could blame him; it was bloody freezing out here.

"Aye; I'm the football coach here…" he said without an ounce of enthusiasm; it took Emma a moment to comprehend what he said.

"You're the soccer coach, right?" He forced a tight smile as he nodded.

"To Americans it's soccer; to us it's football and a way of life..." It was the most enthusiastic thing he'd said and Emma smiled brightly. She still stood in his arms flush against his body as he stared at her uncertainly. "I was, uh, about to head home…if you, um, needed a ride anywhere…" he offered hesitantly.

"Thank you, yes…that's very kind of you…" Emma said as he smiled in relief. He ran his hand over her back once more as he turned to lead her off the field. Emma detected a trace of bitterness when he admitted to being the coach here.

"So what do you do? What part of the states are you from?" he asked quietly.

"I'm the Sherriff of a small town in Maine; it's in the northern most part of the country." She answered, getting increasingly bored with the same old routine.

"Do you like it there?"

"Sometimes…I, uh, I move around a lot and I've been there for a few months now. I guess I'm just starting to feel the itch to leave again, but…" Emma's voice trailed off; Eric looked at her as he waited for her to continue.

"But…?" he prodded in her silence. "I have a son; he was adopted by the mayor and he, well, he needs me…"

"How old is he?"

"Ten." She answered, smiling at the thought of him.

"Well then what brought you all the way over here?"

"Just taking some much needed time off, I guess…" she lied, hoping to avoid explaining this whole crazy mess.

"Fair enough…" he said as they reached his car. He opened the trunk and set the duffel bag inside, when Emma heard a snappy remark from a punk kid.

"Hey Wirrel, I'm back on the team, mate…" Emma looked at the young boy confused and was tempted to slap the suggestive smirk right off his face. He was tall and well-built, with overly highlighted hair and piercing eyes. There was a shorter, fatter man beside the boy leering at her just as obviously. "Who's the bird, then, eh?"

"That's none of your business, Gordon..." Eric mumbled without looking up from his trunk. The pair of them snickered amongst themselves as the boy turned his gaze back to Emma.

"Well, she can't be your girlfriend, you haven't got the bollix to hang on to a bird like her." Emma's eyes went wide with indignation as she stared incredulously at the man beside her. Gold would've whipped this kid's mouth with the business end of his cane and Eric barely lifted his eyes in response.

Before Emma could get a word in edgewise, the father was pulling his son away. She stood in stunned silence looking between Eric and the car driving off. After a moment of awkward silence, he slammed the trunk closed as Emma walked to the passenger side; which she quickly realized was the driver side here. She flushed with embarrassment at having forgotten as he smiled her, watching her walk around the front of the car.

"Does he always talk to you like that?" she asked as he started the car. A measure of shame filled his eyes as he nodded 'yes' but said nothing. He didn't seem the type to allow himself to be bullied and Emma wondered why he didn't take a firmer stand against the boy.

"He talks to everyone like that; he has no respect for anyone but himself. I ignore him; for the most part it's not worth the aggravation for me to argue with him." Emma wondered how or why he became a coach if he was so disenchanted with it. She realized that at some point he loved it and over time the little monsters that are high school students wore him down.

"I was tempted to slap that smirk off his face; him and his father…" Emma said spitefully eliciting a deep laugh from the man beside her.

"I would've paid money to see you slap him…" he said enthusiastically; her eyes widened in surprise as she laughed lightly.

"Not your favorite student I take it?" She asked knowingly.

"No, I kicked him off the team today because of his snarky and disrespectful attitude, only to be forced to allow him back on because his daddy was a 'pro' and is paying a large sum of money to the school." He said with disdain; Emma nodded in understanding.

"Now it all makes sense…" she whispered. The ride to his home was faster than Emma expected and she found herself across the street from a stadium.

"You live in a stadium?" she asked teasingly with a wink. "Isn't that taking your obsession a little too far?" He forced a smile as he stared wistfully at the blue doors across the street.

"Nah, I live here…" he said, motioning to the door that faced the massive blue arena. Emma followed him inside, looking around amazed at the small apartment that was filled to the brim with soccer paraphernalia.

"I apologize for the mess…" he began, heading for the stairs. "I'll be right back."

Emma studied every trinket and newspaper article that cluttered the small space. The most obvious that drew her attention was a pale blue sports jersey that hung in a glass case on the wall. Framed photos littered the floor and the walls as Emma stopped at one in particular. It was a newspaper photo of a younger Eric with long black hair jumping over an opposing teammate during a game. The sound of his footsteps drew her attention and she smiled as he stood at her side. He had changed out of his soccer gear into blue jeans and a gray t-shirt.

"Was that you?" she asked, motioning to photo. He nodded; his eyes barely glanced over the photo as if seeing it again caused him pain.

"Aye…it's me." He admitted softly.

"I love the hair," she said with a wink. Eric chuckled shyly as he scratched the back of his head nervously. "Were you a professional?"

"I was…"

"Wow…" she whispered incredulously. "What?"

"I just never pictured you as a sports kinda guy..." She answered, even with all the versions of him; sports just never seemed his cup of tea.

"You say that like you've known me longer than a half hour." He said confused, not quite meeting her eyes. Emma stared at him, fearful she had just given herself away.

"What does Man. City mean?" she asked, hoping to distract him.

"Manchester City, it was the team I played for…" he explained briefly. At Emma's expectant stare, he continued. "See, Manchester has two pro football teams: Man City and Man United…it can get kind of dangerous between fans during games."

Emma nodded in understanding, knowing American's get the same way over football. "So what happened?"

"Ah, it didn't work out…" he said as he moved to the couch, covering a trophy with a polishing rag.

"Were you hurt?" she prodded. He diverted his gaze to the ground, shaking his head.

"No…" he whispered hoarsely. "Someone else was…he barely walked again after that game, let alone played. It just wasn't the same after that…" Emma sat beside him, curious to know who the man was, but she let it go.

"Is that when you became a coach?"

"Not right away, I uh, had some things to deal with. I missed it though; it's why I became a coach. I thought if I could teach it and be around it; it would help."

"And did it help?" he scoffed, resting back against the couch.

"It makes it worse actually; especially when I have to deal with kids like Gordon Burley." Emma watched him as he rolled a cigarette between his fingers.

"Do they know who you are; you're students?"

"No, what's the point?" he countered, avoiding Emma's intense gaze.

"They'd listen to you; maybe respect you a bit more." Emma was shocked that he didn't brag about it; that he didn't shove in that kids face at every opportunity if only to shut him up.

"Listen to me…" he repeated, chuckling as though it were a joke. "Nah, you've gotta want to learn. Gordon doesn't want to learn, he depends on daddy's money and connections. The bitch of it all is that he actually is a good player, he just has no concept of teamwork."

"But that's just one student…certainly there are other players on the team." Emma pointed out, slightly annoyed at the fact that he would make an entire team suffer because of one player.

"Yea, followers of Gordon. They have no understanding of the game; they don't appreciate what it means to play it or be part of it…"

"So teach them. And if you demonstrate even half the passion I just saw here, they'll respond to it."

"There's more to life than football, Emma…" he said in a dismissive huff. Emma assumed it was an indication he wanted to change the subject.

"That's a lie…" she said, leveling him with a sympathetic stare. He turned his head and met her eyes for the first time since they'd been in his apartment.

"Is it?" he whispered, shocked at her challenge in his own home.

"I have a talent at spotting liars…or someone who is lying." She corrected quickly, not wanting him to think she was calling him a liar. "You don't believe that yourself."

"What do you want me to say; that there's anything as good as that?" he asked in a huff nodding to the framed photo. "Well, there's not; because once you've experienced something like that…" he exhaled heavily, his voice becoming little more than a whisper. "…it takes the sunlight out of everything…"

"So, the better option is to never try for something because nothing else will compare to it; or to avoid the pain of losing it?" she asked in disbelief. Eric studied her with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Do you do this often, love? Just worm your way into people's homes and deconstruct their lives in a matter of moments?" he asked with a crooked smile. Emma worried that she had crossed a line, but at his smile she knew he was teasing.

"Not usually; but I'm on a roll tonight…" she said playfully. Eric furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, staring between Emma and his window.

"Tonight…? Emma, its broad daylight outside..." She turned and looked out the window, forgetting for a moment that she was still dreaming.

"Well, it was night when I started…" she defended, laughing to herself. Eric was now only confused as he watched her next to him.

"Why don't you tell me what happened; what you're doing here?" Emma sighed heavily as she closed her eyes; this was what she was hoping to avoid.

"It's a really long story; one I'd prefer not to go into right now."

"Are you hungry?" he asked abruptly. "Starving…" Eric got up from the couch and made his way to the kitchen.

"I'll make us some dinner and you can tell me all about it then…" Emma smiled and nodded as she stood from the couch, continuing her exploration of his apartment. She hoped that in one of these articles was the answer to what happened to whom that made him quit.

Emma set the table as Eric brought the main dish to the table: chicken and broccoli over ziti in Alfredo sauce. It looked as delicious as it smelled and Emma was sure he could see her salivating.

"This is absolutely fantastic…" she said, eating less like a lady and more like a Viking. Perhaps it was an effect of the drug or the fact that she hadn't eaten almost all day thanks to her stress; probably a combination of the two. It would certainly account for her extreme bouts of nausea.

"Thank you, I'm glad you like it." He said, watching her amused. "So, you were going to tell me your story."

"No I wasn't; you just made a statement and assumed I'd honor it." Emma teased; he narrowed his eyes skeptically at her and she could tell he wasn't kidding. Clearing her throat she sipped her water, wondering where to begin.

"Before I tell you this, you have to promise that you will not freak out or try to call the cops or an ambulance." Emma had to stifle the laughter at the mix of curiosity and terror that formed on his face. Without a word, he nodded his agreement.

"As I told you, my son was adopted by the Mayor of the town and he came and found me in Boston and brought me back with him. She doesn't like me, hasn't from the beginning despite that I brought my son back to her crazy ass…twice. She really hated me when I was voted Sherriff…" Eric nodded, listening intently as she continued.

"Since she doesn't like me, or anyone for that fact, she is framing my best friend for murder. Now, I know for a fact that Mary is innocent, the trouble is proving it. However, last night when I stopped by the station to see her, she was gone. I panicked and I started searching for her; I only have until 8am to find her or she is screwed." Emma again wondered what time it was, if she was already too late to save Mary. She was certain by now she would have woken, but she was wrong and there was no end in sight.

"I almost ran a man over during my search and out of guilt I drove him home. He invited me in and showed me a map of the area and gave me tea to 'warm me up'. As it so happens the tea was drugged and I woke up here." It wasn't a total lie; she was just leaving out the whole part about this being a dream.

"I'm sorry…" Eric began pinching the bridge of his nose. "He drugged you in Maine and you woke up here?" he asked, staring at her stunned silence.

"Well, we made a few stops along the way, but yes. I don't remember much, and no I'm not hurt." She explained swallowing a mouth full of food. Emma could see the man was reeling, trying to find words to say.

"Well, how do you know you're not hurt?" he asked hesitantly.

"Because I would know, and I'm not bruised, bleeding, or broken. Other than a splitting headache I am perfectly fine." Emma said, bringing her empty plate to the sink.

"Well, is there anything I can do? Do you need a ride to the airport or anything?"

"No, thank you, it's fine. You've been so kind already…" she said, leaning against the counter. Eric sighed heavily as he joined her by the sink, still shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well, it was the least I could do for you."

"You say that as if I've done anything for you."

"Well, you have…" he said; quirking an eyebrow as he smiled at her. "Let's just say you've given me an idea…"

"And what's that?" she asked intrigued. Emma suddenly lost her balance and fell to the ground.

She landed in the back seat of a bumpy car, surrounded by gunfire. As she gathered her senses she realized she was in a carriage, and couldn't see the driver. She fell to the floor and curled herself into a ball to avoid being shot. She could hear the hooves of what she assumed to be horses and the crack of a whip urging them to go faster. She had no idea where she was or who she was about to meet; all could she do was stay down and hope she didn't die.

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Next we travel back in time where Emma meets Plunkett, oh yes, I'm already having fun!

To answer some of the questions:

Yes, there will be Felix DeSousa and of course (though I'm saving the best for last; Gaz of the Full Monty.) I am planning on doing some of his darker characters (I'm definately doing David Russell from the Last Enemy. I'm on the fence about Sergei; only because I was trying to keep this fic light. But, if I do I will probably go dark for the darker characters. Durza - I'm not quite sure how that will work, but if my muse strikes I will write it.

And Purple Medusa, don't go giving away the end...lol and thanks for the editing note; much appreciated.

Nightowlsnest: your comments make me smile and I appreciate them beyond words. so thank you.

As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter; please review! : )


	7. A Thief and A Gentleman

A/N: Again, I do not own OUAT or Plunkett and MacLean. I changed the image for this story to a very handsome Hamish MacBeth (in case you were wondering) I set this story during perhaps my favorite scene in that whole movie. Enjoy and please review! : )

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By the time the carriage came to a stop, Emma felt as though her ribs were broken. Every muscle in her body ached from the constant bouncing on uneven roads that were littered with potholes. She uncurled herself with a heavy sigh as a pained groan escaped her lips, listening intently for sounds of voices but heard nothing. The ride seriously aggravated her already pounding headache and the nausea that came over her in waves. All she could think of was getting out of this torturous contraption and setting her feet on solid ground.

Before she could sit up, the carriage door was flung open, revealing a very gruff and dirty Gold holding a lantern. The carriage and the lantern were a clear indication that she had travelled a little farther back in time than 1995. His eyes widened first in surprise then confusion, and finally rage flashed across his face. His hand reached behind him and Emma scurried back in terror as he pulled a gun on her, backing against the wall.

"Who are you?" he demanded, the antique gun still pointed directly between her eyes.

"Please don't hurt me…" Emma pleaded, holding her hands up in surrender. He held the lantern higher, taking a closer look at her. She panted for breath as he studied her, unnerved when she met his eyes. They were no longer threatening, but they were still wide and wild.

"Say that again…" he commanded softly. Emma stared blankly at his odd request, but in the interest of staying alive she complied.

"Please don't hurt me…?" she repeated, almost as if asking a question. A crooked smile formed on his lips as he pulled the gun back.

"You're not from here…" he pointed out, a mischievous grin forming on his lips.

"No, I'm an American…" she whispered hoarsely, relieved when he put the gun back in its place. He removed his overcoat and to her relief he handed it to her; eyeing her skeptically when she cringed away from him.

"Put that on and keep your head down. Don't make a sound…" he growled through clenched teeth, grabbing a large bag by the door. Emma draped the coat around her shoulders, gagging at the pungent smell that accompanied it. She pulled the coat closed and kept her head down as he ordered, following close on his heels. The contents of the bag he carried clanked loudly as he walked. Emma had a feeling that they weren't antiques and that they also weren't his. Just when Emma thought she'd go crazy with boredom, she meets the first criminal version of Gold two hundred years in the past.

He led her into a large and extravagant apartment. At first Emma feared that perhaps he killed whoever lived here and just moved in. His worn and tattered clothing didn't match the wealth that surrounded them. But as they walked through the rooms, she was beginning to think the apartment was just for show given that there was hardly any furniture in it. Emma bit her tongue, however, afraid to anger the madman with the gun. She followed him inside a large sitting room and save for a table, a chair and a small couch the room was bare. She removed his coat and handed it back to him, watching as he lit another lantern and several candles. Emma fell breathlessly onto the settee against the wall, her hand resting over her abdomen, trying to ignore the fact that she traveled back to a time before electricity.

"Who are you?" he demanded again as he sat at the table, a much calmer edge to his voice.

"No one; not a threat anyway…" She replied, still trying to catch her breath.

"When I tossed the bag into that carriage it was empty. I was traveling too fast for you to just jump in, not to mention all the gunfire. Where did you come from?" there was an edge to his voice, but it wasn't anger. Emma met his eyes to see confusion, trying to understand something that just wasn't possible. She sighed heavily, leaning forward on her knees.

"Trust me, you aren't going to believe me if I tell you."

"Try me. You said you were an American…" he said, beginning her story for her. Given that she was dreaming and in an entirely different time period, Emma decided to entertain herself and change up her story.

"I am the wife of a wealthy landowner in Boston. I was taken for ransom by his enemies." Sure she changed a few details, though she's not exactly sure why. It's not like he can pick up the phone and check out her story.

"Upstanding and wealthy gentlemen don't have enemies…" he said skeptically, cleaning the barrel of his gun by candle light.

"Who said he was upstanding?" Emma retorted with more attitude than she'd intended. At that the man looked up intrigued, studying her face. Emma instantly chided herself at his sharp glare – women in these times were dainty and delicate. Refined young women never raised their voices, or at least, that was what she remembered from her history book.

"Is he a criminal?"

"I don't think so; he's just very ruthless when it comes to business and getting his money. A lot of people will be relieved when he dies…" she whispered softly. He nodded, his eyes never leaving the gun in his hands.

"Do you love him?" he asked nonchalantly. Emma cocked an eyebrow pretending to be offended.

"That's an incredibly personal question…" she said, straightening her posture as she smoothed the hair from her face.

"Answer it anyway…" he demanded.

"Yes; on most days…" she replied softly; a small smile playing on her lips.

"Uh-huh…" he said, staring at her suspiciously. "And do the wives of wealthy men always dress like…this?" he asked distastefully, a mocking edge to his voice. Emma looked down at her black pants and tank top; unsure if her was criticizing her or hitting on her.

"No, the men who took me dressed me like this so I wouldn't draw attention…" she whispered, doing her best to look ashamed of her clothes.

"That's not possible…" he said with smirk. Emma blushed at the unspoken compliment, uncertain of how to respond. He cleared his throat awkwardly, returning his focus to cleaning his gun. "Is there a reward for your safe return?"

"I would assume so…"

"Excellent; I'll deliver you home, collect the money and you can be my tour guide as a thank you for saving your life." He said enthusiastically.

"Tour guide? You're going to America?" Emma asked in disbelief.

"Yea, I've almost got enough for the boat tickets." He replied sharply. Emma rested her head against the wall with an apology for offending him. "What's your name?"

"Emma. And yours…?"

"Plunkett, Will Plunkett. Or as others know me, the Gentleman Highwayman …"

Before Emma could say another word, the front door opened loudly; a very angry, possibly very drunk man came yelling up the stairs. Emma struggled to understand him as he yelled on and on, something about the pox. Emma truly hoped that they were talking about chicken pox as she'd had it as a child and wouldn't catch it again. Will tightened his jaw as he closed his eyes in frustration, no doubt trying to block out the sound as well. This was doing nothing for her headache.

"I'm ruined; finished. This is all your fault you misbegotten pimp…" the man said, sticking his head through the door. Emma's eyes widened, intrigued at that particular accusation, staring incredulously at the man before her. Will forced a tight smile in slight humiliation.

"How was I to know she had the pox?" Will shouted over his shoulder.

"I should've known; the richest woman in England…of course she has the pox!" The younger man was completely ignorant of Emma's presence as he hadn't yet entered the room. She considered speaking up but she found herself rendered speechless at the argument. This was the most entertainment she's had all night. The younger man finally entered the room in his pajamas, still yelling as he looked down his pants.

"My John Thomas is a complete disaster area…just look…" Emma stifled a laugh at the terminology which she could only assume was slang for his penis that he was clutching so desperately.

"I don't want to look." Will replied, looking away as the younger man shoved his _'John Thomas'_ in Will's face.

"Just look…LOOK!" Will sighed heavily, looking down the younger man's pants.

"Ah, Jesus Christ…" he whispered incredulously.

"And you say it will be worth it! The whole paraphernalia is on fire. Information is all you care about, isn't it? Information, information, information; America, America; America…" he carried on, getting closer to his ear. Will dropped the gun on the table and rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.

"…I hope you drown on the way!" At that Will shot up, glaring menacingly at the boy before him as he strode out of the room calmly. Emma watched the man silently as he whimpered and mumbled on about Rebecca and how she's lost to him. He finally saw her when he attempted to sit down; both unable to sit and caught off guard by her presence.

"Who are you?" he asked breathlessly, doubled over in pain.

"Emma…Will was of some assistance to me tonight." She answered before he could ask. "And you are?"

"James…you heard that whole thing; saw it…" he noted with embarrassment.

"Sorry…" she whispered as she nodded.

"Limey bastard should've warned me. Don't trust him; he's off his block." He said sardonically, managing to straighten himself up. At that Will returned with a small metallic cylinder; James recoiled at the smell as Will removed the lid.

"What's that?" he asked panting for breath.

"It's Plunkett's Patent Pox Cure…" James stared blankly at Will as if that explained something. "Used to be an apothecary, didn't I?" James smiled as he scoffed, looking at Will as if he were joking.

"What?" he asked in a huff of annoyance.

"Well, does it work?" James asked doubtfully; obviously desperate for anything that would ease the pain.

"It has been known, yea…" Emma watched intrigued as Will scooped some of the gel onto an oddly shaped knife and flung it on the floor. It caused a small explosion and Emma jumped in surprise; staring incredulously between both men.

"He's supposed to put that where…?" Emma asked; the younger man looked fearfully at Will, waiting for an answer.

"Just be careful, my boy…" he said with a mischievous grin.

"I'll leave you two alone…" Emma said, exiting the room as fast as possible. She ended up in the bedroom which was only slightly less awkward then the alternative. Will followed behind her and closed the doors to give James some privacy. Emma sat on the edge at the foot of the four post bed, pulling her knees to her chest. Will sat diagonally from her at the headboard, watching her curiously.

"So, are you some kind of doctor?" she asked making conversation.

"Kind of, I was an apothecary. I had my own shop making medicines and things like that." His eyes never lifted as he spoke making it hard to read if his words were truthful.

"What happened?" she prodded. His eyes returned to her as if he'd forgotten she was with him. Emma had been unconsciously listening for the sound of an explosion and was relieved that by now it hadn't happened. His yelling also had ceased, which was a relief due to her ever pounding headache. Her eyes drifted back to the man sitting opposite her, his gaze far off.

"I lost the shop…ended up on the street. I've been trying to get to America ever since." At the sadness that laced his voice, Emma thought he may have lost more than just his shop.

"Did you ever have a wife or kids?" she asked hesitantly.

"A wife…she died shortly after we lost everything." He whispered hoarsely.

"I'm sorry…" she said softly; he sighed heavily as he nodded.

"Thank you…" he replied, barely above a whisper. Though he seemed abrasive on the surface, there was something likeable about him. She had labeled him a common criminal at first glance; well, the gun certainly hadn't help in labeling in him anything else. She had done the same thing with Gold, thinking that the man on the surface was all there was to him. How wrong she had been about him, she'd been wrong again here. They were so alike, she and him, both turned to theft when they found themselves on the street. It isn't a glamorous life, and it's not something she was proud of, especially since it led her to prison. But she also knew that not every thief was a heartless, hardened criminal.

"So, James isn't your son?" Emma asked confused. Will's head turned sharply at that as he stared at her.

"No, why'd you think that?" Emma stammered, shrugging her shoulder as she thought of the answer.

"The way you guys fight…you don't seem to like each other. I don't know; I just thought he was your son." Will laughed, shaking his head in amusement.

"Well, he's not. We were arrested together, we got released together; I talked him into helping me get to America…" his voice trailed off as he cleared his throat, lifting his gaze back to Emma's. "What about you, any kids?"

"Yes, a son, but not with –" Emma stopped herself as she realized what she was saying. Her eyes closed as she shook her head, chiding herself for not having been more guarded.

"Not with your husband?" he finished for her. Emma met his eyes fearfully, silently begging him not to ask.

"How did you and your husband meet?" he asked instead, his brown eyes soft as they studied her. Relief flooded her when he didn't press about Henry's father.

"Um, it was an arranged marriage." She began with a small smile. It was Gold's story of his first wife, but it fit in with the times. "My father was sick and he wanted to ensure that I would be well taken care of. Mr. Gold had made a marriage offer before, but my father turned him down. I thought he was insane…"

"Your father or your husband…?" he clarified.

"Both, equally…" Emma said giggling, recalling how she felt about Gold after their first meetings. "Gold had a ruthless reputation and I wasn't really keen on the idea of marriage." He rested his head against the wooden headboard, staring intensely at her. It wasn't predatory, and Emma found herself strangely at ease in this man's presence.

"Forgive me for saying this, but you don't exactly strike me as…well, as an aristocrat. Normally the wealthy are very stuck up and wouldn't stoop so low to talk to me, much less sit on the same bed in my house without a chaperone." He said softly, seeming truly baffled as he studied her.

"Oh, I wasn't raised with money; I inherited it when I got married. I have a very strong dislike of the rich – always looking down their noses at you as if you're somehow less than human. Even though I married into wealth, I guess I never really lost my dislike of the wealthy." Will nodded in understanding, and Emma decided to take advantage of his medical knowledge. She hoped he might have a magic potion to cure her headache.

"Do you, um...do you happen to have any medicine for nausea or headaches?" He raised his eyebrows and smiled brightly as he stood from the bed.

"Yes, of course; wait here…" he said eagerly, happy to be of assistance. Emma closed her eyes as he head feel back against the post. Fatigue was beginning to set in and she hoped that it was a sign she'd be waking up soon. As interesting as all of this was, she needed to wake up…it has to have been days ago that he drugged her. Will returned stirring a spoon in a small glass of water.

"Here, drink this. Toss it back in one shot or you won't finish it." Emma met his eyes with a playful glare, wondering what she was about to digest. She did as she was told and drank it like a shot.

"It'll probably make you drowsy…" he warned her. At the bitter and burning aftertaste in her mouth, Emma suddenly understood why he said she wouldn't finish it.

"Thank you…" she said hoarsely, her eyes filling with tears. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, handing the cup to Will. "Wow…that is potent stuff…"

"It has to be in order to be effective…" he stated quietly, setting the cup on the nightstand beside him.

"You're a very good man…Will Plunkett…" he chuckled at that, watching her with those curious eyes.

"I'm poor and I'm a thief…"

"And you're still a good man. Trust me; I'm an excellent judge of character.

"Well, thank you, Emma…" he mumbled, rising to go. Emma grabbed his arm just below the elbow and stopped him as he passed her.

"Please stay…" she pleaded in a whisper. He stared at her incredulously, and Emma couldn't tell if he was angry or terrified. "Just until I fall asleep?"

At that he sat back down, lying stiffly on his back. Emma curled along his side, resting her head on his shoulder the way she had done so many times with Gold. Will seemed genuinely nervous at having Emma so close, tentatively wrapping his arm around her. Sleep was taking over fast and Emma snuggled closer to him.

"Thanks…" she said, yawning sleepily. "This was fun…"

"Indeed it was, love…" she heard him whisper before the darkness claimed her.

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I went with a bit of a different format for this story, so I hoped you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought. I'm not sure who will be next; but it will either be Felix, David Russell or Durza depending on who I finish first.

As always, Please Review! :)


	8. Durza the Shade

A/N: Sorry for the delay; I've been trying to finish my other story. This chapter is kinda short...my apologies; it also came out a bit darker than I intended. But then again, Durza is dark. I don't own OUAT or Eragon or Durza.

I hope you enjoy it...

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Emma woke slowly on a concrete floor to the sound of thunder, shivering in cold darkness. An instant dread and panic washed over her as she took in her surroundings. She was in a round open atrium; there were seven entrances to stairways and corridors for her to choose from and Emma found herself frozen. She could see her breath on the air before her as she released a fearful sigh. Never had she experienced such an overwhelming sense of evil, her hair standing on end as chills tingled along her spine. She had no idea where she was, nor did she want to; even less, she didn't want to travel through a single one of those corridors. God only knows what evils lurk in the shadows.

Hugging herself, Emma ran her hands over her arms to restore heat to her freezing body as she took her first hesitant steps toward the brightest corridor. She avoided any and all staircases, wanting to stay as close to the ground as possible. The only thing she could think of was getting out of this nightmare she found herself in, trying to force her mind to send her somewhere else. Emma froze when heard the sound of metal scraping against concrete and muffled voices approaching her. She peered around the stone wall, swallowing hard as her eyes focused on a small group of what looked like soldiers, clad in heavy metallic armor carrying spears and what Emma could only describe as torture devices.

At first she thought they were human, but upon closer inspection they had red eyes and razor sharp teeth, with shaved heads and strange markings on their faces. Emma tried desperately to control her breathing, covering her mouth to remain unheard. Just passed the group of soldiers was an exit; the fear of being caught pounded loudly in her ears. If there was such a thing as hell, Emma was certain she'd found it.

Emma stepped lightly keeping close to the wall, though careful not to touch it, almost afraid if she touched anything it would give away her presence here. She held her breath as she approached the corridor after the last soldier disappeared into darkness. She crouched low to the ground, hoping she could sneak by unnoticed. Her blood ran cold when she heard an all too familiar voice echo around her, stopping her in her tracks.

"Bring me the boy, I said…" his voice was calm as he spoke, but there was no mistaking the man was angry. Emma's body trembled fiercely with cold and terror, too afraid to look inside the room.

"Bring me his blood, I said…" at that Emma needed no further convincing; she didn't want to stay here a moment longer. As Emma crawled passed the entryway, she saw a heavy body hit the ground with a loud thud. Stifling the scream that resounded in her mind, Emma scrambled to her feet, running full speed for the opening that led outside. The sun had been devoured by thick black smoke and fog, casting an eerie and haunted atmosphere around her, but at least she would be out of this torture chamber. The scream escaped her lips when a puff of purple smoke appeared before her, producing a devil that blocked her path. His face, though familiar, was distorted with symbols carved on his cheeks and forehead. His hair was straight and longer than hers, dyed blood red. But his eyes were an unnatural icy gray – hollow as they stared into the depths of her soul. She tried to swallow, to breathe, yell, or move. Her body was frozen – her throat sealed shut.

"And who are you…" he asked with a predatory smile. Before Emma could speak his arms were around her. In the next instant they were in a small room with a rectangular concrete slab. She was grateful that she was standing beside it, not tied down to it as the restraints suggested she could be.

"You are not from this place…" he pointed out, circling the slab towards her. Emma's chest heaved rapidly as she stepped back, keeping a safe distance between them. He wore red and black robes with a sword secured around his waist. His eyes were relentless as they scanned the full length of her body. Emma realized with a desperate sigh that she was locked in a dungeon as her eyes focused on the barred door.

"Do not try my patience, child, for I have none…" he growled through clenched teeth. Emma backed into the cold stone wall as he closed the distance between them. A warm tingling tore through her as his hands hovered over her body, ghosting over her arms and torso. Emma shut her eyes turning her head away unable to look at him. To see Gold's face so marred, so threatening, so evil – she couldn't bear the sight.

"You possess a great power, dear; it courses throughout your body…" Emma shook her head in response. The room spun around her as she tried to catch her breath. She's barely taken a breath since she woke up here.

"I don't have any power…" she managed to whisper at last.

"Ah…so she can speak. And tell me, who are you and how did you find this place?" he asked with knowing smile.

"I'm no one…I got lost…" his hand gripped her throat and Emma scratched at his wrist, pleading with her eyes that he let her go. Though his words were hardly above a whisper, the rage was clearly communicated on his pale face.

"Don't lie to me; I can see who you are. I can see into the deepest recesses of your mind. Magic courses through your blood. You're a warrior and a princess…" his jawline tightened as Emma shook her head frantically, desperate to wake up.

Though she knew this was all a dream, it disturbed her beyond belief that this man sounded like Henry. _She was the Savior, the one that would battle the Evil Queen and break the curse. _This was nothing more than an extreme manifestation of her subconscious playing tricks on her; amplified by the drug that Jefferson gave her.

"I don't know what you're talking about; I'm not a princess or a warrior and there is no such thing as magic…I'm just an ordinary person…" Emma said on the verge of tears. He chuckled darkly as he leveled her with an incredulous stare, finally relaxing his grip on her throat. Though he didn't let go…

"I assure you that magic is very real." He rested his hand just above her chest; the corners of his mouth forming into the slightest smile. His touch was like ice leaving trails of cold fire as he dragged his black nails over her skin. Emma was pinned against the wall and something told her fighting back would be useless. He could after all materialize out of thin air. He grabbed her chin and pulled her head towards him, forcing her to look him in the eye.

"My power was obtained through darkness and fire. You're power is inside you. It comes from light and love. There is nothing ordinary about you." There was amusement in his eyes as he held her firm against the wall. Emma wasn't normally afraid of anything, but this man frightened her like no other. He wasn't even truly a man…of that much she was sure.

"Oh, how is it that you don't know?" he asked, chuckling darkly.

"Who are you?" she choked hoarsely.

"I am Durza, a shade and you are in Gil'ead, my fortress...welcome…" he said a cruel smile on his lips.

"What's a shade?"

"A sorcerer…" Emma shivered as a sadistic smile formed on his lips, watching as his hands traveled up her neck to either side of her head. Her stomach writhed at the thought of what he might do next.

"So much pain…" he opened his eyes and met her gaze and Emma wondered if he was somehow reading her mind. "So, that's why you don't know…you weren't there…"

"Please let me go?" she pleaded, the tears rushing down her cheeks.

"Now why would I do that? I could use your power…" In a flash Emma was restrained on the table, watching in mute horror as he brought his razor sharp nails down to her sternum. Emma felt her chest tighten as though he were trying to rip her heart out through her skin. In her mind Emma was screaming at the top of her lungs, though no sound escaped her lips.

"Let's take a tour, shall we?" he said gruffly. Emma arched her back, feeling her body ignite under his touch.

Her screams filled her ears as she shot up. She heard a man yell _bloody hell_ as a car swerved and came to an abrupt stop, throwing Emma into the front seats. She sucked in breath after desperate breath, looking around bewildered and terrified. They appeared to be on an abandoned road, surrounded by lush green rolling hills. It was daylight and she was in the back seat of a car with a very human looking, short haired version of Gold. He looked as bewildered and terrified as she did, staring at her in stunned silence. The tears stung in her eyes and she panted breathlessly, locking eyes with the man behind the wheel.

"Where am I?" she asked finally.

"England…" he said, staring at her in disbelief. "Where the fuckin' hell did you come from?"

"America…" she answered sarcastically, unable to stop the shaking of her hands. With a nod and forced smile, Emma stepped out of the car, basking in the sunlight and brisk morning air trying to slow to pounding of her heart.

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So as always, please review...love it or hate it let me know. I know I said I'd be doing David Russell, but I think I might let Durza be the only dark character I do. So, I'll probably do Tom Monroe, Felix DeSousa and Gaz from Full Monty in that order.


	9. Felix DeSousa

A/N: I am SO sorry for the delay. I meant to update this last weekend and then the hurricane hit and the power was out all week. I know I said I'd do Tom Monroe next, but Felix DeSousa was done first, so here ya go. I hope you don't mind. ;) Again, I do not own OUAT, Formula 51 or any characters herein. For the purposes of this story, I have decided to exclude the presence of Samuel L. Jackson. Enjoy!

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Emma rested her hands on her knees, gasping for each desperate breath on the sidewalk. Her heart raced frantically; it wasn't true, she wasn't a magical warrior princess. This was all just some god-awful nightmare and Emma just wanted to wake up. Mary Margaret was probably long gone by now and would be ruled a fugitive. She heard the car door slam behind her, and the clicking of a cigarette lighter as he approached her.

"Are you alright, lass?" he asked with a thick accent. He wore a dark gray business suit with a red sports jersey; Emma chuckled inwardly at the contrast of business and casual. His hair was short again, and he had a small patch of hair beneath his lip; with the gold chain around his neck he looked like a well-dressed street thug. Emma got the feeling he wasn't really concerned about her even though he was asking.

"I'm fine, just a bad dream." She whispered breathlessly, holding her hand over her pounding heart.

"How the fuckin' hell did you get in my car?" there was a threatening edge to his voice and Emma was shocked at his sharp words. She's never once heard Gold curse before.

"I don't know; that's just where I woke up." She lied, hoping he'd believe her.

"Right, will you be alright here? I'm on my way to a…um, business meeting." Emma looked around at the nothing that surrounded them.

"Where is your meeting?" she asked calmly. He shifted as he stared at her, as if trying to determine if she was a threat.

"At a hotel…" he answered hesitantly.

"Well, I'd rather be stranded at hotel where there are phones and people with places to sit and eat, than to be left here on the side of the road alone." He rolled his eyes in frustration as he scoffed. She knew she wouldn't be able to buy anything to eat without ID or money, but she would be much safer there than here.

"Fine, then just get in the car. I'm fuckin' running late as it is…" Emma took a deep breath and complied, walking to the passenger side of the car; or the driver's side in America. He shifted the car to drive and sped off like a bullet. An uncomfortable silence settled over them as he drove. Emma opened the window to air out the cigarette smoke; battling images of Durza in her mind.

"Ever been to England before?" he asked, sucking on the cigarette.

"This is the third time today, actually…" Emma replied sardonically. Felix gave her a confused and quizzical look.

"You mean you've been in England all day?"

"Sure." She said, deciding it best to leave out her excursions to Africa, Scotland, the USA and outer space. Besides, he didn't seem particularly eager to help her and would likely drop her off at the nearest hospital or police station.

"Do you have a name?" she asked softly.

"Felix…" He said finally.

"Emma."

"A lovely name…" he said with a suggestive smirk. Emma forced a tight smile, remembering the first night she met Gold and he paid her the same compliment.

"Thank you." A long silence ensued, her hands still trembling from the intense terror that gripped her in Durza's fortress. She was again grateful that this was all nothing more than some drug-induced hallucination…she'd never see Durza again. Well, unless of course he haunted her dreams beyond this.

"Here we are love…" he said as he parked the car, flicking the cigarette out the window. Emma practically jumped from the vehicle into oncoming traffic, walking around the red jaguar to the sidewalk.

"Well, Emma it was lovely to meet you. Good luck getting wherever you're going." He said with a smile and nod of his head. Emma stared after him in disbelief as he strolled into the extravagant hotel.

"Thanks…" She sighed heavily, unsure of what she would do; this was the first time in these dreams that she had been 'abandoned'. The street was busy and Emma maneuvered through the crowd; the hotel lobby seemed as safe a place as any to sit and wait until she woke up somewhere else.

Emma sat on an antique settee in the lobby, resting her head against the wall as her eyes drifted closed. She couldn't help but wonder what kind of business meeting he was in. Given the extravagance of the hotel, Emma rethought her initial conclusion that he was meeting a prostitute. That still left the possibility of drugs, but she knew whatever he was doing, it was illegal.

Emma was drifting on the edge of sleep; jumping at the sound of machine gun fire as chaos erupted around her. People panicked, running in every direction. She rose to her feet, intending to walk calmly from the hotel, but then she thought staying inside was a safer bet right now. She would hopefully wake up at any moment. Suddenly, there was an arm around her waist, pulling her with him.

"Stay calm and quiet; you're coming with me." He whispered in her ear. His voice was familiar and she knew who he was before she saw him. Emma couldn't help but notice he was limping, and she wondered if the gun shots had anything to do with his 'business meeting.' _Perhaps and illegal arms dealer…_ She wondered darkly as he handed her the keys.

"Um, I don't think –"

"Just hurry up and drive, the police are coming." He ordered sharply, limping to the other side of the car. Emma groaned as she sat behind the steering wheel, starting the car.

"I've never driven –"

"Just drive!" he yelled and Emma pulled out into oncoming traffic. The familiar sound of police sirens blared around her as she pushed the pedal further down. She kept telling herself that she could do this; she could drive on the wrong side of the road on the wrong side of the car. It was just like driving in America.

"What the hell just happened?" she asked, staring at the flashing lights that tailed them too close for comfort. It brought her back to her youth when she was stealing cars and just about anything she could get her hands on.

"I just got shot in the fucking ass, that's what happened." He shouted painfully, "Take a left…"

"That's a one way –"

"Take a fuckin' left!" Emma turned sharply, having to drive halfway on the sidewalk to avoid hitting cars. People dodged left and right as Felix yelled frantically beside her. She was tempted to knock him unconscious if only to silence him, but she had no idea where she was.

"Where the fuck did you learn to drive?" he asked, panting for breath.

"America…I tried tell you. And don't try to blame this on me; it doesn't help that I'm driving on the wrong side of the car on the wrong side of the road down a one way street!"

"Take a right…" Emma pulled the car off the sidewalk, making a sharp right at the traffic light. A chorus of blaring car horns and smashing metal filled her ears, watching in the rear view mirror as a pile of cars blocked the police car. She released a heavy sigh of relief, hoping no one was injured. Emma slowed her speed so as to not draw attention.

"Do you need to go to a hospital?" she asked concerned; it didn't take a genius to figure out the bullet was still lodged in the muscle.

"No, I'll be fine, just drive." They drove around for another fifteen minutes, backtracking and making sure no one had followed them. Finally, he gave her directions to his home and Emma wasn't sure if she was relieved or terrified at the prospect. She parked on the street where he designated; houses lined both sides of the road as Emma stepped from the car.

"Do you need a hand?" she offered as she fell in step beside him.

"I'm bloody fine, lass; quit hoverin'…" he said sharply. Emma's eyes widened in astonishment at his harsh words, considering she was only trying to help him. He opened the door, and she followed him in hesitantly.

"Felix, it's about bloody time…" an elderly woman said as she stepped into the kitchen. She shot Emma a disapproving scowl, and she could only assume this was his mother. "Who the bloody hell is she?"

"Aunt Shirley, Emma; Emma, Aunt Shirley…"

"Nice to meet you…" Emma said softly, almost hiding behind Felix as the woman glared daggers at her.

"A yankee?" The woman said incredulously. Felix rolled his eyes with a huff of annoyance as he headed for the stairs. "Dakota was here lookin' for you earlier."

"Well, she found me." He called, limping up the staircase. Emma stood awkwardly in the kitchen, smiling at the woman who clearly didn't like her.

"Where's your bathroom?" Emma asked breathlessly.

"Upstairs, second door on the left..." The woman said, sniveling as she walked away.

"Thank you…" Emma mumbled, heading up the stairs. Emma rifled through the medicine cabinet in his bathroom, desperately searching for some aspirin. She finally found a small bottle, popping the lid and taking two; she knew they wouldn't do much given that this was a dream, but she could hope. The pounding in her head was made worse by the machine gun fire, the blaring horns, and Felix's screaming. Emma startled as the door opened behind her, staring in disbelief at the man as he charged towards her.

"Can't you knock?" she said, glaring murderously at him. What if she had been _using_ the bathroom?

"I need you to take care of the bullet wound for me." He demanded. Emma's eyes shot wide open as she stared at him incredulously, certain she must have heard him wrong. There was no way he could actually expect her to…

"What?! No, absolutely not!" He was already unbuckling his belt and Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, turning her back. She was gonna need something a lot stronger than aspirin in a moment.

"Yes…it's not even that deep." _Deep? Did he expect her to try and take it out?!_

"No, no, no; I'm not comfortable with this. You should get to a ho –" Emma started for the door and he quickly gripped her arm.

"I can't go to the hospital…" he said as Emma wresteled her arm from his grasp. "I'm not asking you to rip your gear off or anything, but I can't have my aunt lookin' at my bare arse. I will do anything you ask, please..." Emma sighed heavily in annoyance, rubbing her temples to soothe the pounding drum inside her head.

"Fine," she whispered hoarsely, "…do you have a first aid kit?" He opened the mirror and pulled out disinfectant, cotton balls and large bandages and placed them on the edge of the bathtub. Emma turned hesitantly, afraid of what she'd see. She sat on the edge of the tub, and he turned so she could only see his back and right sides. A fact for which she was grateful; she had never seen Gold naked before and she didn't want this to be the first time.

The blood seeped through the tight white fabric, and Emma blushed a deep shade of crimson red as he slid his briefs off. She drenched a cotton ball in disinfectant, doing her best to look only at the bullet wound and nowhere else. He winced and his body jerked away as Emma pressed the cotton to the open wound, cleaning the area around it to assess the severity of the injury.

"Sorry…sissy." She teased sarcastically. If he winced at just that light touch, he was in for a world of pain.

"Hey, if you'd like I could shoot you in the arse and see how you like it." He retorted bitterly.

"No thanks…"

"Can you see it?" he asked impatiently.

"No, and if even if I could I'm not taking it out."

"Why are you being so bloody difficult?!"

"Because I'm not a doctor –"

"Can you please just try to get it the bloody fuck out?" he pleaded.

"Do you have tweezers?" Emma asked in defeat, amazed that she was agreeing to this. He opened the mirror and handed them to Emma. "If I can't find it with these you're on your own. I don't want to risk tearing up your muscles while digging to find it."

"Fine. Thank you." The biting edge to his voice was gone. Emma attributed his sudden solemn demeanor to the fact that he was now bare assed in front of a total stranger who was cleaning a bullet wound. Emma felt nauseas as she closed the tweezers, feeling around for the bullet. She felt his muscles tense at the intrusion as he inhaled sharply, gripping the sink until his knuckles were white.

"So, uh, what kind of work are you in that it gets shot up by a machine gun?" Conversation, she hoped, would take her mind off what she was doing.

"It was a drug deal; twenty million for some wonder drug." Emma was amazed at his honesty, she suspected it was drugs, but she never thought he'd admit to it. "Dakota was probably hired to take out the creator so they could steal the formula and keep the twenty million."

"Who's Dakota?"

"My ex-girlfriend; she's a hitman. I imagine she saw you with me and got the wrong idea. She probably only shot me to say hello…" he explained, panting for breath. Emma could only imagine the pain he was in as she didn't have anything to use as an anesthetic.

"Your ex shot you in the ass to say hello? What the hell did you do to her?"

"I didn't do bloody anything, well, I did like futbol a bit too much. It was her biggest complaint; I didn't spend enough time focusing on her. So, she left me; changed her name from Dawn to Dakota and pissed off for Las Vegas and a deck of cards. She never misses; if she really wanted to hit me, I'd be shitin' through a tube the rest of my life." He winced again and Emma felt the metal touch the tip of the tweezers.

"Don't move, I think I found it." She closed the tweezers around the bullet, hoping she didn't lose it.

"Yea, you did; bloody fuckin' hell…" he said through clenched teeth, holding for breath. In a swift motion, she pulled the tweezers from the wound and dropped them both in the sink. She exhaled a deep sigh of relief, thankful that that was over and she didn't do more damage. With trembling hands, she drenched another cotton ball and began cleaning and bandaging the wound.

"Thank you…" he said, his body visibly relaxing.

"You owe me big time for that."

"How much do you want?"

"I won't be collecting in money…I said you owe me a favor." Emma furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, realizing that she sounded just like Gold. He must be rubbing off her more than she realized.

"Fine by me, lass…"

"So do you have kids?" she asked, opening the box of bandages.

"Fuck no; why would you think that?" Emma looked at all the squeaky toys that surrounded her and looked at his reflection in the mirror.

"Because of all the kid's toys that are in and around this bathtub…" A curious smile formed on his lips and Emma was honestly afraid to hear the answer. Not that it mattered as she secured the bandage over the bleeding wound; she was done.

"Alright, you're all done…" she said, pushing her way passed him to the sink. The water scolded her skin as she scrubbed and rinsed her hands, repeating the process several times. "If the bleeding doesn't stop you'll need to go to the hospital for stitches."

"Thanks again, love…" he said as he sipped his pants and buckled his belt. "Would you like a drink or two?"

"Yes, two please, any type of whiskey you have…" she said as she dried her hands. As he limped from the bathroom, Emma soaped up and washed her hands again, unable to believe what she just did. She turned the water off, studying her reflection as she dried her hands, when the bathroom changed around her. She stared in shock at the wooden framed mirror, looking around cautiously. Emma walked slowly to the bathroom door, wondering fearfully where she was now.

There was silence as she opened the door a crack, peering out in hopes to see who she ended up with. A soft light came from the living room, but she couldn't see anyone. She stepped lightly through the hallway, the floor boards creaking beneath her. Emma stopped when she heard a rustling, watching as a shadow moved in the light. Her heartbeat quickened, fearing who she was about to encounter.

She moved to the far wall as she stepped from the hallway into the living room. The distinct sound of a gun being cocked filled her ears, and her hands instantly went out to her sides. Normally she would have yelled don't shoot, but her throat seemed sealed shut. She had had enough of guns and violence today. Emma closed her eyes, afraid he would shoot her if she looked at him.

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" By his voice, she knew who he was, but that didn't count for much now there was a fear that he could hurt.

"Emma Swan…and it's kind of a long story." She heard him move around her, standing in front of her.

"Open your eyes…" Emma complied and her eyes focused on an intense, older version of Gold in a brown suede jacket. "Do you have ID?"

"No, they were stolen. I'm an American and I've been lost in England all day…" Emma wasn't positive she was still in England, but she hoped that she was right. He lowered his gun slightly, motioning for her to sit on his couch.

"Keep your hands where I can see them…" he ordered as he sat in the arm chair against the wall. Emma placed her hands on her thighs; she assumed that was where he was sitting when he heard her. There was no television on; no radio. She wondered why he would be sitting alone in a dimly lit room. He removed his finger from the trigger but kept the gun aimed in her general direction.

"Start talkin'…"

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So, I hope you enjoyed it. I apologize again for the delay. Please review! :)

**Shadock** - I've never seen 'Safe' and I haven't been able to find it anywhere. So, no, I won't be able to. My apologies :(


	10. Monroe

A/N: I do not own OUAT or Class of '76.

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He was intensely quiet as he glared at her, waiting for her to begin. Emma sat numbly on the couch, staring at the gun in his hand; her hands trembled against her thighs, having had her fill of violence for the night. Though given his swift actions and demeanor, Emma was almost certain he was a cop. The man before her had deep, haunted eyes. Despite his indignant glare, he looked worn down, and Emma wondered what he had witnessed that placed such sadness in his eyes.

"Start talking right fuckin' now, or –"

"Emma..." she choked hoarsely. Emma cleared her throat, her foot bouncing nervously under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. "Emma Swan…I'm Sherriff of a small town in Maine." At that his eyebrow's raised intrigued, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Show me your ID…" he demanded quietly. Emma sighed heavily, diverting her gaze to the coffee table that separated them.

"I don't have any…I've been lost in England all day. Are you…are you a cop?" she asked hopefully. A small smirk crossed his lips as he scoffed, looking almost amused as he reclined back in his chair.

"Tom Monroe…Detective Investigator, actually."

"Isn't that the same thing, just with a different title?"

"What are you doing in England?" he asked sharply, ignoring her question.

"Um, I was drugged in Maine while chasing an escaped prisoner. I woke up here." He narrowed his eyes, and for a barely perceptible moment she thought she saw a flicker of compassion.

"So, you broke into my flat for what…a place to sleep for the night?" There was a softer edge to his voice, but he did not let his guard down; nor did he lower the gun.

"I didn't break –" An exasperated sigh escaped her lips as she rolled her eyes in frustration. "You know, I could try to explain, but you'll probably just call me crazy." He leveled her with a suspicious gaze, but to Emma's surprise he seemed to relax.

"Right now, you'd be shocked what I'm willing to believe." He said darkly, his words thickly accented. He tucked the gun away without taking his eyes off her, much to Emma's relief.

"Why's that?"

"Would you like some tea?" he offered. Emma held his gaze; a cup of tea was what started this crazy nightmare.

"Got anything stronger?" He smiled with a nod and rose from his chair, motioning with his finger for her to follow him. Emma kept her distance as he led her into the kitchen, retrieving two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

"Do you always offer tea to people who trespass in your home after holding them at gunpoint?" Emma asked as he poured the whisky.

"I don't know; you're the first…" he said with a crooked grin, handing her the small glass. "Besides, most robbers wear masks and gloves and carry weapons. You don't fit the criminal profile…"

"Thanks…I think…" Emma said, leaning against the counter as she downed her fist shot. He was already on his second, refilling both their glasses in the silence.

"Have you ever worked a case that even after doing everything right, you still fail?" he asked, staring at the liquid as he swirled it in his glass. Emma nodded, thinking of Mary and all the promises she made that she could fix this.

"About 5 years…no, almost six years ago now; a string of young girls went missing. We had no leads at all until the guy slipped up and made a mistake, and we discovered one of the bodies. When I finally arrested him, he was completely remorseless; evil in the truest sense of the word. I wanted to hope the rest were still alive…"

"But they weren't?" Emma whispered hoarsely. Tom shook his head, tossing back another shot.

"Thing was, he never confessed to any of the abductions. But once every year for the past five years, he'll demand a meeting with me and give me the name of one of the girls on that list, and tell us where she's buried. Just some deranged way to drag out everyone's suffering."

"That's horrible…"

"The worst part is that I was so wrapped up in this new case that I missed a meeting with him where I was supposed to get the location of Theresa Swanson…the last girl he abducted. But because I didn't meet him when he demanded it, he won't give up the location. And now I have to tell her parents that while their daughter's killer will die, they will never have her body to bury."

"It's not your fault that he didn't give up the location. At least you caught the guy…" Emma said, trying her best to comfort him. Though in cases like this, she imagined that was quite impossible.

"Yea, well, it doesn't make it any easier." He whispered darkly. "What happened to him?"

"He's dying slowly, hardly able to breath in a hospital bed…" he replied, grim satisfaction evident in his cruel smile.

"What's this new case?" she asked, wondering what could enthrall him so much that he would miss such an important meeting.

"A man committed suicide. But as it happens there might be a serial killer going back to 1976." Tom said, leading her back to the comfort of the leather couches.

"How did you make that connection?" she asked incredulously, sitting across from him.

"Well, we found a tape recorder in the guy's car, on it he says that it 'won't be a suicide; won't be an accident;' that every one of them was murdered."

"Every one of who?"

"The class of 1976…five kids all from the same elementary class have died. The first was a ten year old girl named Amy Irving, she was murdered in 1976. The next three were a hit and run, a car crash – someone tampered with the brakes; and now the suicide of Pat Fisher."

"I'm sorry, did he commit suicide or was he murdered?" Emma clarified, becoming more confused.

"Well, he stepped in front of a semi, there's no doubt that it was suicide. But it was the events leading up to that that uncovered the rest of this."

"That's crazy…"

"I know; it's been nagging at me since the beginning. And here's the kicker; another member of the class sent Pat a letter, warning him that either of them could be next. When this man and I spoke, he told me it was the ghost of some boy in the class photo..." At that her eyes widened, a crooked smile on her lips.

"A ghost…? Now there's one I haven't heard before."

"I know, it's complete bollix." He said with a scoff. Emma couldn't help but compare this man to Hamish MacBeth. Tom Monroe was much darker, having witnessed so much more than Hamish. He was a serious police investigator who made a connection where no one else would have, while Hamish is perfectly content to let others rise above him. Though both obviously had a deep sense of compassion and concern for others, they couldn't be more different.

"But that still won't make _my_ story any easier to believe." Emma said in the lingering silence. Tom smiled, refilling her glass.

"Well, let's hear it then."

"A woman from my town went missing about a week ago, and just yesterday we found a human heart inside a jewelry box. DNA proved that it was Kathryn and then all the evidence started piling up against my roommate, who as it happens was having an affair with this woman's husband." At that Tom's eyes widened, and Emma knew exactly what he was thinking.

"Now, I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that she is innocent, and I found evidence that proved it was the town mayor who killed Kathryn and is framing Mary."

"Why would she do that?" Emma swallowed her last shot; holding up her hand when he went to refill her glass.

"Because it's a small town and she's used to getting her way. And apparently – according to a very reliable source; Regina blames Mary for the death of her fiancée however many years ago. But before I got the warrant, she destroyed the evidence."

"Hell hath no fury, eh?" he asked, though there were no teasing tones to his voice.

"You have no idea…" Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, filled with fear at the thought of Mary alone and on the run. "I kept telling Mary to trust me, to trust the system; that I could get her cleared…and I couldn't. She's probably long gone by now…"

"Well, good luck. I hope you get it all sorted." He said with a heavy sigh. "Thanks…"

"But that doesn't answer the question of how you got in here." Tom said with a raised eyebrow as he again reclined in his chair.

"Your bathroom…" Emma replied softly. Tom cocked his head to the side as if she were lying to him.

"My bathroom has no windows." He informed her, as if she didn't already know.

"I noticed." At that he leaned in on his elbows, leveling Emma with an incredulous stare. "So what…? You just materialized in my flat?"

"Something like that." She whispered, fearful of what his reaction might be. At that, the indignant look returned and he sighed heavily in frustration.

"If you want to continue being difficult, I could just arrest you for breaking and entering. And without an ID or passport; you could be here for a while." Emma shook her head with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders.

"Not really…"

"Care to wager?"

"No need, because I'm not really here." He again narrowed his eyes, staring skeptically at her; his mouth opened and closed several times before he finally spoke.

"You're not really here…is that some kind of joke?"

"No, see, my friend – the one I told you about escaped from prison tonight. While I was chasing her, I almost ran a guy over and I drove him home. He's the guy that drugged me and I haven't woken up yet."

"So you think this is all some kind of dream?" Emma nodded, watching him closely; he pinched the bridge of his nose as he mumbled, "Now, I've bloody heard it all…"

"Well, I know I haven't woken up yet. I woke up first in Africa then on a spaceship in outer space. Next it was England, Scotland, America and back to England; then England again only it was the 1700's. Next I woke up in the castle of a dark sorcerer who told me I was some magical warrior princess and he wanted to take my power. Then I woke in England again and ended up pulling a bullet out of some street thug's ass and then I materialized here with you. And all of you are my boyfriend…just with slight differences in appearance and history."

Tom clenched his jaw, and Emma was certain he was going to arrest her. But when he burst out into laughter, Emma couldn't help but join him.

"That must be some fuckin' drug."

"It's pretty scary, I'll give you that."

"Well, I don't know what to tell ya lass, other than the fact that I know I'm real."

"Of course you are, in my subconscious –"

* * *

"Oh, come on…again with this?" Emma yelled in frustration, looking around the clearing. She turned in time to see a soccer ball coming straight at her, ducking at the last minute. Was she back with Eric Wirrel? Was she going to go through all of this again? She heard the sound of Gold's voice rushing towards her, looking up to see a young blond, gruff looking man.

"I'm so sorry, lass…are you alright?" he asked breathlessly, helping her to her feet.

"Yes, I'm fine, thank you; though I'm a bit lost. Can you tell me where I am?" she asked, brushing the dirt from her black pants.

"Glasgow…" The man replied with a curious look. Emma forced a tight smile and nodded; so she was back in Scotland.

"I'm Emma…" she said, extending her hand.

"Nice to meet you, love…I'm Gaz…"

* * *

So I was thinking of actually adding Rumplestiltskin in FTL to the mix in the last chapter after Gaz. I hope you enjoyed this one, as always please review.


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